


Feeding the Wolves

by PaperGrenade



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6639325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperGrenade/pseuds/PaperGrenade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emmeline thinks she's strong, participating in a war between men. But when she's injured, her father gives her another task: travel to King's Landing and convince the King to let the Starks go. She never expects that she'll succeed, and she surely doesn't expect to be sent right into the wolves den.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've decided to get my butt into gear and finally post this on here. I'll be removing the review replies and whatnot and just keeping stuff that's actually relevant in the author's notes. Should anyone comment, replies will be in new chapters. Anyway, this story is going to be largely AU, and I'm going to be trying to implement both the books and TV show into it. That being said, some events may not take place at all, and some events may be moved forward or back. Likewise, some ages may be changed to better fit how I want the story to go. 
> 
> One more thing, before the story starts: the romance won't come until much later, both for Robb and for Jon. I want to build up my characters before giving them a love interest, especially since romance wasn't my intention for the story. This isn't going to be a quick "they fall into each others arms and are automatically in love" story. In fact, the main pairing probably won't come into play until well into the middle of the story.
> 
> Enough chat, though. Read on and enjoy!

### Negotiating Release

##### JOFFREY

“You’re being _very_ foolish,” a voice spoke behind Joffrey. 

He whipped around, shocked, to find his young aunt, barely two years his senior, standing in the shadows of his chambers. He wasn’t quite sure how she had gotten past his guards, especially with the large amount roaming the halls at night. “Aunt Emmeline, to what do I owe this visit,” he questioned, trying to act as though he had not been surprised. 

His aunt moved forward, her blonde hair shining brightly in the candlelight. She took in the lavish decor of his room, her eyes trailing over the silken drapes hanging over the windows. Joffrey could see that she was favoring her left side, the limp barely noticeable as she walked toward him. “I have just come from your grandfather. Needless to say, he is very unhappy with your actions involving Lord Stark and his children.”

Joffrey frowned, thinking back to his first day on the throne. His mother had begun whispering in his ear the moment his father had returned, injured from his hunt. She insisted that Lord Stark had a hand in his father’s injury, and later death, and that he would only look to take Joffrey’s life in order to gain the throne for himself. “Lord Stark intended to have me killed,” he began before his aunt cut him off.

“Lord Stark was only following the words of Jon Arryn and your uncle, Stannis. He was led to believe everything he said. Tricked, if you will. But he, in no way, wants your death. Lord Stark is an _honorable_ man, Joff. He doesn’t condone the killing of _children_.”

He knew he could listen to his aunt, though his face soured at her condescending tone. _She_ was fighting in a war that had started from his actions, and he knew that she just wanted the fighting to be over. Regardless of that, Joffrey knew she wouldn’t lie to him. Joffrey just couldn’t understand why his mother would want Lord Stark imprisoned, if not for him plotting to take the throne. The man had seemed perfectly harmless, aside from his evident snooping, and had even housed them within his own walls for over a month.

“Then why,” he asked, confusion evident in his tone.

Emmeline sighed, sitting on his bed and patting the covers next to her for him to join her. He did so, waiting patiently for her answer. “Surely you have seen Robert’s bastards, at least some of them?”

Joffrey nodded, a sour look on his face, remembering his brief meeting with Gendry, the blacksmith’s apprentice. He had commissioned a new sword for his uncle, Jaime, after a spar in the tiltyard had damaged his old one. He had been unreasonably rude to the boy, only seeing his father’s infidelity rather than a skilled apprentice. 

“One thing that everyone forgets is that although Baratheons have all had black hair, Lannisters have always had blonde hair and green eyes. While it is possible that what Lord Stark said is true, it is equally possible that what he said is a complete fabrication.”

He looked into her jade eyes then, seeing the truth in what she was saying, but also understanding her unspoken words. All of his father’s bastards had Baratheon features, he heard. _All of them_. And he was a picture perfect Lannister.

“Your mother, while I can’t explain her actions, surely has some reason for telling you what she has. The Starks, however, are innocent. Send Lord Stark and his daughters—” he opened his mouth to object, but Emmeline silenced him with a look “—back to Winterfell. Forget your betrothal to Lady Sansa, and let them return to their frigid home.”

Joffrey thought over her words, his mind spinning. “My mother will not be happy with this decision,” he stated eventually, already looking for ways that this plan could work. Should his mother discover his plans, helping the Starks escape would be pointless. She would call for their heads on spikes, right next to his aunt’s. 

He knew, more than others, how much his mother disliked her young sister, though he couldn’t imagine any reason why. Emmeline was the perfect lady, yes, but she wasn’t a queen, nor was she Queen Regent. Despite that, he could sense the jealousy his mother felt when Emmeline was nearby. His mother demanding for Emmeline’s execution wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest.

Emmeline seemed to have already thought the entire plan through, if the small, secretive smile playing on her lips was anything to go by. “She doesn’t have to know,” she replied, her voice strangely diplomatic. His aunt had never been one for politics; she preferred to play with her swords or sit quietly in her fancy dresses. “Lord Stark died in his cell from a fever, after his wound festered. Lady Sansa, overcome with grief, and not wanting to be imprisoned in King’s Landing, threw herself from the battlements. Lady Arya, the she-wolf, attacked you in your chambers, believing you to be the cause of her father’s death, and was killed by a guard in your defense.”

Joffrey had to admire his aunt. She could surely make up the most believable stories when prompted to. “And how would they escape? I can hardly see any of mother’s swords allowing them to leave with their heads.”

Her answer was a simple smirk. “I know of many ways out of King’s Landing. Allow me to see to their safe return to Robb Stark, and I will then see to Jaime’s swift release.”

He remained silent, for a time, thinking of the war already raging around them. “How are we to be sure that they will return to the North once they have what they want? What if they take you hostage as well?”

Her answer was simple enough, though he could see that she was touched by his concern. “Robb Stark only wants his family back, safely where they belong. We can’t guarantee the North following you as King, however. Would it not be easier to allow them their North, and rule over the six remaining kingdoms? They had their own king, once, and the Northerners are their own people. Their customs are much different than ours. Having their own king would benefit both them and us.”

“If I do this, I want you in the north as an ambassador, not just to deliver his family to him.” Joffrey always knew how to shock Emmeline, that was for sure. “I _would_ have you marry the Stark boy, but he’s no doubt already betrothed himself to Walder Frey’s many daughters, if what you’ve told me in your letters is correct. He made a deal with Frey to cross the bridge, yes?”

Emmeline sent him a smirk, leaning back on her hands and nodding as her answer. “If they continue moving at the pace they have been, they will have already named him King in the North, even before your raven has a chance to reach him. Prepare yourself, nephew. We have a letter to write.”


	2. Chapter 2

###  Escape

##### SANSA

Sansa could hear Arya moving around in the room beside hers, grumbling under her breath as she, once more, unpacked her belongings. They had been caught trying to sneak out of the castle, the few of their father’s men that had survived now long dead. The Queen Regent had ordered them locked in their chambers, armed guards standing watch at the door day and night.

Arya had spent the past few days keeping track of when the guards changed. The both of them were eager to escape, but Sansa had convinced Arya to at least unpack her belongings. If they both kept everything packed in their trunks, the Queen Regent would become suspicious, and if they were to escape, they couldn’t have that happening.

She was soon joined by Arya through their adjoining door, Needle in hand and a murderous look on her face. Sansa hoped she wouldn't do anything foolish, though she never could read her sister’s moods or intentions very well. While she had flourished in the South—she blushed to admit that she had even gotten her first moon’s blood shortly after they had arrived in King’s Landing—Arya was always a Northern child, with the fiery wolf’s blood running through her veins. The south couldn’t contain her any more than Sansa could bear living in the cold, dreary north. She admitted, rather reluctantly, that even she missed her cold home.

She sat next to Arya at the small table by the hearth, anxious for news about their father, but also knowing that they wouldn’t receive any. She was sure that he would be declared dead the next time they heard of him, and dreaded any news of the sort. 

Sansa knew why Arya had pulled Needle out now, though she hoped that her sister wouldn’t be forced to use the tiny sword she had been gifted. She could understand the security Arya felt with it attached to her belt. She had the same secure feeling knowing that Arya would do anything to protect them both.

Laughter pulled her out of her thoughts, and she glanced at the door impatiently. It sounded like a woman’s laugh, and she wondered which guard would be foolish enough to leave his post before the next guard change. It would be happening very soon, but she knew that she couldn’t get her and Arya away before their absence was discovered. The guard changes were set during the most inopportune times, for them at least: too early in the day for them to feign sleep, and too late in the morning for them to pretend they weren’t hungry. 

The sisters sat silently next to each other, Sansa twisting her hands in her skirts, and Arya critically inspecting Needle for any blemishes along the steel. Sansa knew she had stabbed a boy, someone who had been foolish enough to challenge the she-wolf in her. She had watched Arya clean the blood off the sword, after removing it from the hidden bottom compartment of her trunk.

A knock on the door caught them both by surprise, Sansa standing stiffly, clasping her hands in front of her, and Arya hiding Needle under Sansa’s bedcovers after a moment of panic. The person on the other end, a guard no doubt, opened the door without waiting for a response. Sansa furrowed her brows as, instead of a Lannister guard, a petite blonde girl walked in. She had a sword, Sansa noted, hidden just under her red cloak, and she realized that _this girl_ was Lady Emmeline Lannister. They had met only briefly when the royal family visited Winterfell, the older girl preferring her own company rather than the large crowds surrounding the rest of her family.

“The guards will be back before long,” stated Lady Lannister, tossing them both small saddlebags. “Pack whatever you require, and douse the lights.” Sansa could see the confusion cross Arya’s face right before she opened her mouth, no doubt to ask what was going on. Lady Lannister cut her off, “no questions! Do as I tell you!”

Arya ran through the adjoining door to her own room while Sansa sped to the small dresser by her bed. She shoved a few dresses into the saddlebag, rolling them into little balls to ensure she had enough room. They were the few dresses from the south she liked—she wouldn’t need the rest.

If what she suspected was true, she would be back in the north before long. As much as returning to the cold bothered her—she _loved_ the south, just not the people—returning home was a much more exciting prospect than becoming _King_ Joffrey’s plaything.

Her embroidery kit followed the dresses, as well as the shirt she had been dutifully embroidering for Robb. The gray direwolf was half finished, its mouth opened in a ferocious snarl. She thought back to the direwolves she and Arya had lost. They should have never brought them south. _They_ should have never _come_ south.

Arya joined them again as she was shoving the little wedge cloths she would need for her moon’s blood in the saddlebag, nearly forgetting about them. Lady Lannister, who had stood quietly by the door while they packed, beckoned them forward, and Arya doused the lamps before the two of them followed the blonde into the awaiting darkness of the Red Keep’s halls.

* * *

“Where are you taking us?”

Sansa’s curiosity got the best of her before long, though she kept her voice quiet. They had moved quietly through the shadows, along the outside walls of the keep. She could see someone standing in a window, a lamp flickering behind them, and felt a cold chill run through her. _Would they be seen?_ The thought had fear pooling in her stomach, and even after the mysterious figure had closed their drapes, the feeling persisted.

The lack of guards so far had her thoughts heading in another direction, and she hoped Lady Lannister wasn’t planning on locking them away with their father. Arya _would_ attack her, she knew, looking at her sister’s barely concealed weapon. 

“The dungeons,” Arya spoke up then, drawing Lady Lannister’s attention to herself. “Am I right?”

Sansa knew all about Arya’s new knowledge of the Red Keep. While she had been sitting with Septa Mordane, dutifully attending each of her lessons, Arya had made it her goal to find every hidden nook and cranny that there was in the keep. In no more than a month, she had discovered the cellar, with its pitch black dragon skulls, as well as Traitor’s Walk, the squat tower that led to the dungeons.

Lady Lannister looked at them, her eyes gleaming from under her hood, and nodded, though she didn’t say a word. The air was cooling, soothing Sansa’s heated skin, and her stomach turned quite suddenly as they approached a heavy iron door. 

A guard was stood on each side of the door, the light from the torches gleaming on their helms. They both gave Lady Lannister a bow of the head, the one on the right opening the door for them.

“My Lady, King Joffrey told us to expect you.”

She replied with ease, “of course. Please inform his Grace that everything has gone accordingly.”

Sansa and Arya followed her through the door, both girls looking back just as it slammed shut behind them. Sansa felt as though her nerves would snap at any moment, wishing she could cover her ears to block out the pained moans of the Keep’s prisoners.

“It’s just through here.”

Lady Lannister’s southern accent never failed to surprise Sansa. Though the girl— _woman_ —looked like a Lannister, she had seemed as though she belonged to the North, always wearing her hair in Northern styles and keeping a grim expression on her face. Sansa kept expecting to hear a Northern accent when the woman spoke, and couldn’t help but be disappointed each time.

* * *

Sansa couldn’t help the small gasp she let out as Lady Lannister opened a heavy wooden door, their father sitting stiffly in a corner of the small room. They had traveled to the third floor of the dungeons, which consisted of the black cells, reserved for the vilest of criminals. Sansa felt sick knowing her father had been locked down here, not even the light of the sun to keep him warm.

The dungeons were dark, only illuminated by the torch Lady Lannister held, but she ran ahead anyway, pulling her skirts up to avoid tripping. Her father was holding his hand up, as though the light hurt his eyes. She was sure it would, if he was trapped down here all the time in darkness.

Instead of saying anything, words of assurance catching on her tongue, she pulled out the water skin Lady Lannister had given each of them, pressing it into her father’s hands insistently.

“Drink,” Lady Lannister spoke from behind them, pulling a small key from her cloak. She knelt down in front of her father, unbinding his legs from the iron shackles. Arya was there then, helping their father up and supporting him as he stumbled. “There is not much time. I apologize for not letting you get your bearings, but we must go now.”

Their father nodded curtly, understanding the urgency in Lady Lannister’s voice. Sansa didn’t, though, and she voiced her confusion as she supported her father’s other side, slipping her arm around his back.

“The Kingsguard are the only ones aware of the plan Joffrey has to release you. Should any Lannister or City Watch men see us, the Queen Regent may find out, and you do not want that.”

Lady Lannister then turned on her heel, walking into the darkness. Sansa nodded at Arya to follow, trusting her sister and the blonde woman to protect them if need be. Despite Arya not completing her “dancing” lessons, Sansa knew she would be competent in defending them.

A thud from further down the tunnel drew them to a stop, and Lady Lannister appeared from the darkness, Arya close behind. She pulled another torch from a bracket on the wall, handing it to Arya. They continued, Sansa and her father in front, with Lady Lannister’s eyes searching in the darkness as she followed them. 

“There should not have been any guards down here at this time. We should move faster; where there is one, there is more.”

Lady Lannister’s voice caused a chill to run down her spine. The implications of getting caught, when they were so close to freedom, didn’t sit well with her. She could see, from the look on the woman’s face as she glanced back, that the thought was unsettling for her as well. Should they be caught, Lady Lannister would, no doubt, be charged with treason, and her fate would be just as bad as Sansa’s father, if not worse.

Sansa couldn’t be sure _why_ Lady Lannister was helping them escape, but when they reached the next flight of stairs, she realized she couldn’t bring herself to care. At this point, she just wanted to go _home_.

* * *

They came to the end of the passage after what felt like hours. The opening in the passage faced the bay. There were no clouds—there rarely were in King’s Landing—and the moon reflected brightly off the water. Small handholds were carved into the stone, barely noticeable in the dark.

“Forgive me, Lord Stark, but you’re going to have to climb.” Sansa paled as she looked down, seeing just how high up they really were. Below them, sharp rocks jutted out of the water, promising a painful grave for anyone who should fall. “There is a path not far down. There, we will find horses and cart with supplies for the coming trip.”

Arya was the first to start climbing, her face almost as pale as Sansa suspected how own was, though her lips were pulled back in a large grin. _Bran would love this, if he were here_. Sansa felt bad as soon as the thought crossed her mind, knowing that even if Bran _were_ there, he would not be able to make the climb without clinging to someone’s neck.

A small nudge in her side from her father got her moving, and she shakily grabbed onto the first handhold, following Arya down the carved trail.

She couldn't help but look up as she reached the bottom, watching her father unsteadily climb his way down. She knew his leg must be hurting him greatly, but Lady Lannister appeared to be coaching him down, stopping when he stopped and only moving again when he did.

Arya pulled her to the cart, both of them settling in the furs as Lady Lannister and their father reached the bottom.

The first thing the blonde woman did was pull out four dark cloaks, handing the smaller of the two to Sansa and Arya, and giving the largest one to their father. She unclasped her own cloak, letting the silky Lannister red fabric drop to the ground, and swung her own cloak to rest on her shoulders. She picked up the red cloak, rolling it into a ball and tossing it in the cart with the sisters.

Sansa could see Arya bouncing, no doubt wanting to ask the woman why she had changed her cloak. 

Arya spoke soon after, “why did you change your cloak?”

Sansa turned her face away, a smile firmly on her face. Their time in captivity—they _were_ captives, after all; pawns to be used in the Queen Regent’s game—had helped her realize the small ticks her sister displayed before she would do something; bouncing in the effort to keep quiet was just one of many.

Lady Lannister gave the two of them a look, a smile playing at the corners of her lips, before she mounted her horse, urging it on. The horse pulling the cart followed after a moment. “My sister is Queen Regent, she has spies everywhere, but at the moment, she is unaware of your escape. Should one of her spies see us, it would do no good to see a Lannister red cloak amongst the caravan. She will, no doubt, learn of your escape soon enough, should my nephew’s stories not pacify her. The less she knows of my involvement, the better.”

Arya stayed quiet after that, and Sansa watched as she fell into a light sleep, jolting awake every so often as the cart bounced sharply over the rocky ground. Sansa wasn’t tired, though, despite the late hour. Instead of sleeping, she studied Lady Lannister, her eyes trailing over the sharp points of the woman’s cheekbones and admiring her jade eyes. All Lannisters had green eyes, but Lady Lannister’s seemed to stand out more, neither dark nor light.

Eventually, she allowed sleep to take her, the quiet murmuring from her father and Lady Lannister ahead helping sooth her mind into peaceful bliss.

* * *

The next dorning brought the stifling heat of the south, with the sun glaring harshly on their backs. They had discarded their cloaks when the sun hit the horizon, already anticipating the coming day’s heat. Sansa’s silky dress stuck to her body uncomfortably, and she was glad she had taken off the fur lined cloak before she could get any hotter.

She found herself riding her father’s horse while he slept in the too warm cart. The furs had stuck to her skin when she had started to sweat, and her father had offered to ride in the cart in her stead. Arya was riding the third horse, recently saddled by Lady Lannister when they had stopped. Her eyes trailed over the landscape in the same wonderment she had expressed on their way to King’s Landing. Now that Sansa was riding with her, she could understand the awe Arya had felt.

Lady Lannister was still awake. Sansa had suggested they stop, to allow for both her father and Lady Lannister to rest, but the woman had expressed her wishes to get as far away from King’s Landing in the short time as they could. “Should Cersei discover that you have escaped, she will send the fastest riders she can find. I wish to be as far away as possible before that happens,” she had told them.

“Why risk yourself to save us?”

Arya’s voice was quiet but demanding when she asked the question. Sansa was sure that her burning curiosity would not be sated without the answer.

Lady Lannister appeared to ponder how to answer the question, her face holding an unreadable look as she gazed at Arya. She turned toward again, looking across the land. “Your brother started a war to get the three of you back,” she informed them, her voice firm. “My father, while he didn’t want me to participate, couldn’t deny that I was a valuable fighter to have on his side of the battle.”

Sansa gave Arya a look, effectively silencing her when she opened her mouth. Sansa knew Lady Lannister’s response wouldn’t be a good enough answer for her younger sister, but she would give the woman her privacy if she wished to say no more.

“Our families may not get along,” continued Lady Lannister as she glanced at Arya again, “but I respect your family, as does my father. After I was injured, my father implored me to return to King’s Landing and find the truth of your father’s imprisonment. I found, instead, many of my sister’s games involving her son and husband, one of which involved your father. She wasted no time in convincing Joffrey that your father had a hand in his father’s death, and would soon come for him as well.”

“That’s a lie!”

Sansa turned a glare to Arya, who could no longer keep her mouth shut.

Lady Lannister wasn’t fazed, though, and instead let out a chuckle. “Of course it’s a lie, but my sister lives for deception. I sometimes think even she believes her lies. But that’s neither here nor there. Joffrey needed the views of someone who had not been involved in the whole affair, and I so happened to be that person. I was able to convince him of your family’s innocence in the matter, and he agreed to release you to your brother.” 

“Joffrey is not rightful king, regardless.” Sansa jumped as her father joined the conversation, having not noticed him wake up. “Even if Robb takes the army back north, that won’t stop Renly and Stannis.”

Lady Lannister waved her hand at him in dismissal, her voice nonchalant. “Let them all squabble over the Iron Throne. Your family will return north without resistance, and you will be left alone. Joffrey has, no doubt, already announced the North’s independence from the other six kingdoms. The war for the Iron Throne and Cersei’s infidelity is not your concern any longer.”

Sansa watched at Arya made a face, knowing the girl would ask another question soon enough. Over the course of their riding, Sansa had watched Arya’s eyes glide to the dual short swords strapped to Lady Lannister’s belt. Knowing of Arya’s wish to continue learning the Water Dance, she was sure that her sister would question Lady Lannister about her ability to wield the swords soon enough.

* * *

They stopped next to a small river the next time, Lady Lannister setting up a sturdy canopy for them to rest under. A tent would just hold the heat, but the canopy would allow any wind that blew to cool their skin.

Sansa and Arya were permitted to roam along the smattering of trees after their small camp had been set up. Lady Lannister had insisted they eat first, and drink plenty of water before venturing off, and Sansa was soon knelt next to the river with Arya, both of them refilling their empty water skins. They had both been thirstier than they thought.

Sansa watched as Arya approached their father and Lady Lannister, her sister’s eyes trained solely on Lady Lannister’s dual short swords once more. The woman was securing the horses, her gold engraved scabbards gleaming in the sun. 

“How did you learn to wield your short swords? Do they have names?”

A smile graced Lady Lannister’s face for the first time since they had left King’s Landing, and Sansa found herself staring in awe. Lady Lannister was a beautiful woman, of that she could admit. When she smiled, her face seemed to light up, her eyes brightening to a light green. She looked even more beautiful then.

“My father was never very invested in me acting like a lady, though I still had my lessons with my Septa like any girl would. My sister was lady enough to satisfy him for the time, especially with her being a queen. Father, being one of the most influential men in Westeros, has many men indebted to him, and he felt that he didn’t require an alliance with any other powerful houses.” She paused, her forehead scrunched. “I was left to my own devices much of the time. When Jaime visited, he decided that he would teach me how to wield a sword, so he may pass on his secrets to me. As he is part of the Kingsguard, he has no heirs to pass his secrets on to.”

Arya looked to be in love, Sansa mused, seating herself under the canopy. She closed her eyes in bliss as the wind cooled her heated skin.

Their mother hadn’t allowed them to learn the ways of weapons, even something as safe as a bow. It had made their capture in King’s Landing even easier. Perhaps Sansa would ask her father or Lady Lannister to teach her to wield a dagger. At least she would be able to protect herself then.

“Did you name them? All great swords have names. My father’s greatsword is named Ice, and my sword is named Needle.” Arya spoke quickly, hardly breathing between sentences. “Did you learn the Water Dance? Syrio, my dance instructor, said that short swords can be just as effective as a Water Dancing rapier, if you use it right.”

Arya was no doubt bouncing in excitement now. Sansa could just imagine the gleeful expression that she would have on her face after getting Lady Lannister to open up a little. She had always seemed very closed off on matters concerning her personal life. Sansa had to wonder if perhaps she just never had any friends to talk to.

“I have studied the Water Dance,” Lady Lannister replied, and Sansa heard Arya make a noise of excitement. “However, I have never had the opportunity to learn it. Perhaps you can give me some tips the next time we make camp, should your Lord Father agree. As for my swords’ names, I do not think I know them well enough to name them just yet. They were a gift from my brother for my name day, as he knew he would not be seeing me for a time.”

Though the sun was still high in the sky, Sansa laid down on one of the pallets set out, her eyes closing involuntarily. The heat lulled her into a fitful sleep, Arya’s conversation with Lady Lannister becoming a quiet buzz at the back of her mind.


	3. Chapter 3

### Planning

##### ROBB

_Lord Stark—or is it King Robb now?_

_By the time this letter reaches you, you will have, no doubt, heard of your father’s and sisters’ untimely demises. This is, of course, a complete fabrication, conjured up by my dear aunt, Emmeline Lannister. She has always been very imaginative, which has been a much needed relief in this time of war._

_While you are reading this, Aunt Emmeline is escorting your father and sisters to your mother’s ancestral home at Riverrun. I know that this may seem doubtful, suspicious even, but I assure you that this is the complete truth. My mother, while I love her dearly, has never had the best intentions for anyone but herself, it dreads me to say. While my father’s death may have put me on the throne, she simply sees a way to rule—she thinks she can rule through me, and the first act of that was to imprison your father._

_My aunt has helped me to understand that there is always more than one side to a story. Your father, while I don’t understand his reasons, did not want to accompany my family back to King’s Landing, let alone take the position of Hand of the King. I understand this now, and I understand that he has been manipulated in more ways than one since arriving in King’s Landing._

_There is only one thing I expect in return for your family’s freedom—my uncle Jaime. After he has been released from your care, you may return to the North, with no resistance from the throne. However, my aunt will accompany you, to act as emissary after the North has been declared independent._

_Should you agree to these terms, send a reply to Emmeline Lannister at the Crossroads Inn within the fortnight._

_His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm._

Robb turned his eyes to his mother, disbelief etched on his face, while she read the letter that had just been sent to him. He had been planning with his Lords, finding the best route to take Casterly Rock, when the first raven had arrived. It had stated that his father and sisters were dead, giving the gruesome details of their deaths. Then the second had arrived, mere minutes later, before they had even started to mourn.

When Catelyn finished, she looked up at him, her eyes wide.

"Do we trust them?" Robb knew it was a difficult question to answer, but he had to know. Joffrey had ordered his father in chains, had kept his sisters locked in their chambers. He had already seemed so attached to Sansa. It was difficult for them to believe that he was so willing to let her go, regardless of what he said his aunt convinced him of.

His mother looked to be thinking it over, her face contemplative. "Send a reply to Lady Lannister, but, should this be a trick, we need to be well prepared. I do not believe he would mention his aunt if he was not serious, though, nor would he send her into enemy hands without a reason. He appeared to be very fond of her whilst they were staying in Winterfell. I cannot see him intentionally putting her in harm's way, especially for something that benefits him very little."

Robb nodded, reaching forward to grab a piece of parchment and quill. His mother laid her hand on his shoulder before he could start, drawing his attention once more. "We cannot let the Kingslayer go, at least not before he pays for what he has done to Bran."

He had to agree. His mother had told him all about the Kingslayer’s confession, how he had admitted to pushing Bran out of the window. Jaime Lannister would indeed pay his debts, though not with his life as many of his Lords wished. 

His thoughts turned toward the blonde woman, not even a year his junior. Having Emmeline Lannister accompany them north was both a blessing and a curse. They would forever be reminded of the wrong the Lannisters did their family, but also of Emmeline Lannister's part in bringing them together. She would always carry the weight of her family's name and their sins, regardless of any good she did.

They sat together late into the night, him penning the letter to be sent to Lady Lannister and his mother reading it over before giving her approval. Robb knew that the girl would base her judgement on his being a king on whatever he wrote, no matter how much or how little. His mother assured him to write as he always would, short and to the point.

Robb stopped Catelyn as she was leaving his solar, his eyes blazing and face determined. "Rest assured, mother, the Kingslayer _will_ pay for what he has done."

His words were everything she needed to hear at that point.

* * *

Robb stood at a window the next day, gazing over the grounds of Riverrun. His lords had agreed that he would not be disturbed that day, still believing that his father and sisters were dead. 

He wanted to tell them that his father and sisters still lived, but he didn’t know who he could trust anymore. Word of their movements before they had arrived at Riverrun had reached opposing forces, word that should not have passed further than his lords.

Lord Karstark had been increasingly hostile since the Kingslayer had been captured. Lord Bolton, on the other hand, while usually very quiet, had become more and more withdrawn from planning, though he still remained in the room. Walder Frey’s men also seemed restless, as though they were itching to change sides.

Tywin Lannister was a dangerous enemy to have. The mere thought of gold was enough to turn even the most devoted men away from their own cause. Tywin Lannister had more than enough gold, he could win over more than enough men for that reason alone.

Robb’s men wouldn’t be happy with the tentative alliance he had forged with the Lannisters. Some of them may even attempt to destroy it, as much as it pained him to think. That, though, was only a small portion of his problems. 

Another part of his problems stemmed from the exotic healer he had met on the battlefield. Her skin was tanned, much darker than any woman he had seen in the north. Still, even with her tan skin, she would fit well in the north, with her dark hair and eyes. 

He watched the healer— _Talisa_ , she had introduced herself as, _from Volantis_ —as she walked across the grounds, no doubt headed to the healer’s tent to begin her daily work. His lords didn’t like her, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn her away. While she may have been too tall, too slender, her face even too long, he found that her compassion made her more beautiful than most women. 

His feelings for her were a problem, though. He couldn't help but be attracted to her, and he knew that she was attracted to him as well. He knew his men could tell, especially the Frey men. They had been watching him closely, just waiting to have a reason to betray him.

He would give himself a week, Robb decided, and then he would either admit his feelings, or send her away.

* * *

The next morning saw a bustle of activity in and around the castle, preparations for his family’s arrival in full swing. Since news of his family’s release from King’s Landing arrived, the war had taken a quick turn, and since then, been at a standstill. He called his men back under the notion that they would be gathering to march. They _would_ be marching, in a sense, back north. 

They had received news not even a few days prior that Renly Baratheon had crowned himself king. Catelyn was sure that the youngest Baratheon would treat the war as a game, and so far, it appeared he was. There had been no word of Renly Baratheon's movements; all they knew was that his army of 100,000 had gathered in Bitterbridge and, thus far, stayed there. If his father and sisters weren't on their way to him at that moment, he would have sent his mother to treat with Renly. 

His mother’s constant look of worry seemed to have evaporated overnight, though he could still see the lines left behind. She was by the window, looking out onto the grounds. Robb knew she was watching the men lead the Kingslayer into the castle, but even the dark look in her eyes couldn’t replace the light feeling that had come over the both of them.

The Kingslayer would remain in guarded quarters until Lady Lannister and his family arrived. Once they were settled, he would inform Lady Lannister of his sentencing of her brother, and then he would carry the sentence out.

He knew his mother didn’t approve of his decision. She would rather he take the Kingslayer’s head and send it back to King’s Landing—just as Lord Karstark kept trying to convince him to do—but as Joffrey had shown his family mercy, he would show the Kingslayer the same mercy. The man would return to his family, just as Robb’s family was being returned to him.

The subject of the attempt on Bran’s life still hung between Robb and his mother. The Kingslayer had admitted to pushing his brother out of the window, but hadn’t admitted to the assassination attempt. He had, however, informed Robb that he did his own killing, even if it was a defenseless, sleeping child.

The dagger was another matter altogether. His mother had informed him that she had taken the dagger to the Kingslayer in an attempt to rile him up, to get him to admit that his family was behind the assassination attempt. The Kingslayer, she told him, had shown no indication that he had ever seen the weapon before, let alone that his brother had owned it. 

Upon further questioning, he had informed Robb that his brother had never owned a dagger such as the one the assassin used, and that even if he had, their family would have gained nothing from a young boy’s death. Robb, incensed, had remarked that he, the Kingslayer, had still pushed his brother, hoping for his death, to which the Kingslayer replied that it had been for his own personal reasons, not for his family.

Robb hoped that his father would bring some news on the failed assassination, even if it was just a whisper of the truth. Not knowing who wanted his brother dead was by far the worst thing that plagued his mind at night. The agonized screams of men, those were easy to block out; something so personal was harder. He had nightmares of the assassin succeeding, of the assassin killing his mother instead. Those were worse than the ones where he saw the faces of men he had killed.

He stopped a servant as they were hurrying past, telling them to inform Lady Talisa that her presence was requested in his solar after dinner. Tonight, he would tell her just how he felt. He didn’t want to marry a Frey girl, not when he could marry for love.

* * *

Talisa joined him in his solar that night, hovering near the door as he read through the letters he had received. Robb knew she was unsure whether she should be there. He knew she could hear the whispers of his men when she was near him. _He_ wasn’t sure if he wanted her to stay, especially considering he was betrothed.

His doubts had returned full force after he had sent the servant away, wondering if marrying for love was _right_. He was the firstborn, the heir to Winterfell; love wasn’t considered for someone like him. The thought of what his father would say, about how he was even _thinking_ of going back on his word and marrying Talisa rather than a Frey girl had his stomach turning. True, he didn’t _want_ to marry a Frey, but it was his duty, and duty came before love. That was something even Arya could tell him.

It was hard for him to decide, but he knew he was doing the right thing. Regardless of what he wanted, Robb had his duty to remember. Talisa, as much as it pained him to even think, had no part in his life. She was too sympathetic toward the Lannisters; she would continue to treat their men before Robb’s, even when death was inevitable. His lords had protested long and hard about that fact, but he hadn’t had the heart to send her away before.

Robb turned toward Talisa then, taking in her unsure expression. They had never been alone together before. There was always someone nearby, whether it be the Silent Sisters tending to the wounds of others, or his men, reporting back from a battle well fought. They both knew there was something there, some feelings growing the longer they were in each other’s presence, but neither had acted on their feelings. He felt that he had fallen in love with her the moment he saw her selfless act of trying to save a man she had never even known.

Now, though, he knew what he had to do. He knew she wouldn’t like it— _he_ didn’t like it—but she had no choice in the matter. He was a king now; he had to think about how his actions would later affect both his people and his family. Taking Talisa as his wife would be a bad move on his part. He would not only lose the support of the Freys, but he would lose the respect of his men. No, he would continue with his marriage pact, regardless of how much it would hurt him to do so.

“Once we return to the North, we won’t have need of a healer such as yourself. My uncle will, however, should the Lannisters keep attacking the Riverlands as they have been.” 

He watched as Talisa stiffened. The urge to run to her and take her in his arms, to tell her that he didn’t mean was he was saying swelled up, and he pushed it down with difficulty. Instead, Robb turned toward the window, his eyes taking in the river. He couldn’t look at her when he sent her away. He didn’t _want_ to see the reaction she had, how his words affected her.

“I would ask that you remain here when my men and I leave. I am betrothed to another. It would be dishonorable to allow you to think we can be together when we cannot.”

There was a long silence, punctuated only by Talisa’s sudden, sharp breath. Robb wondered if she was going to cry, but couldn't bring himself to turn and see. The door slammed and he heard her quick footsteps moving down the hall, a sharp pain spreading through his chest at the sound.

He was doing the right thing. He knew it, and his mother had reassured him of it when he had informed her of his decision. He just didn’t know it would hurt either of them so much.

* * *

Robb’s mother joined him for breakfast in the morning, informing him of Talisa’s departure from Riverrun during the night. A small part of him had hoped that she would stay, at least until his family returned to him. He knew it was for the best, though, and kept repeating that thought in his mind when his heart clenched uncomfortably. 

He couldn’t allow himself to get closer to her when he would soon have to give himself to another. His mother was satisfied about the decision, and Talisa’s sudden departure; he could tell that much. Though she wore a look of sympathy, he could see her look of relief simmering beneath the surface.

Robb had promised himself to a Frey girl, and he would wed her when they arrived back at the Twins during his march north. A small voice in the back of his head told him to take the Kingsroad back north, to send ravens to every corner of Westeros searching for Talisa and wed her instead. Were he a lesser man, one that didn’t believe so much for honor, he would have listened.

He choked down his breakfast, a sick feeling in his stomach. He would need to meet with his lords again, to begin planning once more. Until his family returned to him, until the Lannisters withdrew, he would continue liberating the Riverlands from the Lannister forces, and even travel to the Westerlands if need be. No agreement with a boy who thought himself king would stop that, especially if the letter was a ruse to gain his compliance.

He stopped a servant as she was hurrying by, his eyes trailing over her dark hair and brown eyes. If her skin was darker, she could be Talisa’s twin. The stern look his mother was sending him pulled him from his contemplative stupor, and he addressed the servant with only a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

“Have my lords meet me in the council chamber after they have broken their fasts.”

The servant scurried away, intent on delivering the King’s message as quick as she could. He had noticed the way her cheeks flamed red, her eyes trailing over his messy auburn curls and down the length of his chest. His doublets were tighter, pulled taut by the muscles he built on the battlefield; he would need to have new ones made, soon.

“Will you continue to fight?” His mother’s voice was wearier than he had ever heard it, and he knew nothing he could say would reassure her. He knew she was just afraid of losing him, afraid that he would go into battle and never return. His father had left her to travel to King’s Landing, and had nearly had his head taken once there. He was afraid too, but he would not rest until the people of the Riverlands, his grandfather’s people, were free from the Lannister threat once more.

Robb sighed, a hand running down his face. He wished everything could go back to how it was before his father left for King’s Landing; before he was leading an army at the age of seven and ten; before he had met and fallen so hard for Talisa.

“We’ll have to, unless Lannister removes his army. We can’t leave the Riverlands suffering, especially when our actions were the starting point of this war. Until they either withdraw or we defeat them, we’ll continue fighting.”

He stood, fully intending to walk out without another word spoken between them. His mother stopped him, the stern look he had become so accustomed to firmly in place once more. “Your father and sisters are coming home. Tywin Lannister will no doubt have to focus on Renly and Stannis Baratheon’s separate armies, should he wish to continue defending his grandson. Don’t waste more lives for battles that ought not be fought.”

She removed her hand from his arm and patted his shoulder, sending him on his way.

He felt as though he was suffocating, as though the stress from having to command an entire army was drowning him. His mother made it sound so easy, ending the war for the Northmen. He just wished it really was as easy as she made it sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robb’s relationship with, or feelings for, Talisa was a bit more established in this chapter than in canon. I wanted Robb to be acting a little foolishly, thinking with his feelings instead of his head, and then have the letter from Joffrey (and the fact that he’s getting his father and sisters back) kind of knock some sense into him.
> 
> Also, the fact that you can reply to comments is so cool. I know, I'm weird, but I just like that fact. I'd rather that than review replies in every chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

### Travel

##### EDDARD

Two weeks on the road passed uneventfully. Thus far, they had encountered no one on the Kingsroad aside for a few traveling merchants, and Lady Lannister had expressed her relief for that matter. Eddard couldn’t help the tension that filled his body as they rode. While Lady Lannister held the belief that her plan had worked, Eddard didn’t share her thoughts; he _couldn’t_ share those thoughts while they still traveled, while he was still away from Catelyn.

A shout sounded behind them and Lady Lannister whipped her head around, apprehension on her face as she spotted the riders in the distance. There were only four of them, but they all wore the red cloaks typical of a Lannister soldier. 

“There’s no way of knowing if they are my father’s men, or my sister’s,” Lady Lannister told them, jumping down from her horse. She ushered Sansa into her place and grabbed her red cloak from the cart, swinging it to rest on her shoulders. “I will delay them. If they are my father’s men, they are likely to report our progress to my father. If they are my sister’s, I will just have to make up a clever lie.”

Eddard watched as she unsheathed one of her short swords and held it in front of her. His eyebrows furrowed. Surely she didn’t mean to attempt to hold them off on her own. 

“Take your girls and go. The Crossroads Inn shouldn’t be much further. I will meet you there.”

He sighed urging the horses on. She _did_ mean to hold them off on her own. Eddard had to admit, she was almost as recklessly stupid as Arya could be sometimes, and Arya was five years younger than the girl. 

Eddard glanced back just as they were about to crest a hill. Lady Lannister had not moved from her spot. Her sword glinted in the sun, held steady, and her pale hair blew in the slight breeze. Arya was turned halfway on her horse and Ned knew she wanted to go back and help Lady Lannister. The thought had him spurring the horses on faster.

There had only been four men, and he repeated those words to his daughters when they expressed concern over Lady Lannister’s wellbeing. Surely the Queen Regent wouldn’t send men to have her own sister killed.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky by the time they reached the Crossroads Inn. Memories of their last visit replayed through his head: Lady’s dead body, her warm blood on his hands; Arya’s and Sansa’s tearstained faces as they argued over Sansa’s lies. Eddard hoped their stay wouldn’t be a long one, but he had noticed Lady Lannister’s discomfort as she dismounted her horse. She had mentioned being injured. He wondered how bad the injury was, if it could leave her in such discomfort.

Sansa’s hood was pulled over her head, hiding her copper hair. Lady Lannister had assured them that she had a room already secured at the inn, but urged caution all the same. There were many types of people that stopped at the crossroads, many of whom would give them up in an instant if it meant favor from the Queen Regent.

The innkeep, a young woman by the name of Jeyne, met him and his daughters at the small stable next to the inn, a stablehand rushing out to tend to their horses.

“M'lord,” she began, gesturing for him and his daughters to follow her, “Lady Lannister has secured you a room for the next week. Come to me if you need anything.” They were led to a room without another word.

Unlike many of the inn’s rooms, this one was spacious, with two beds resting behind a small partition, and a third cot settled against the far wall. Sansa immediately rushed toward one of the beds, a very loud, unladylike yawn escaping her lips. Traveling had left them all feeling tired, but Ned knew Sansa was feeling it the most.

Unlike the trip to King’s Landing, where she rode in the wheelhouse with the Queen and her two children, Sansa had spent half of the trip riding a horse, and the other half sitting uncomfortably in the cart. She had complained constantly about her back and legs hurting. It had taken Arya mocking her about how _unladylike_ complaining was to get her to quiet down.

Arya rushed to the cot, throwing herself down on it with a sigh. Soon, his daughters deep breathing filled the silence, indicating they had fallen asleep.

Eddard sat in a chair by the door, relaxing his body into the soft cushions. His leg ached fiercely, even after the infection had been purged from it. A few days at the Crossroads Inn would be a wonderful respite.

* * *

It was nearly dark by the time Lady Lannister arrived at the inn. Her hair was messy, as though she had ridden hard and fast. Eddard watched her dismount from his place by the window. She appeared to be favoring her side more so than she had before and he wondered if she had to fight her way out. From what he could see, she had no blood on her, but that could be easily washed away in a river.

Eddard’s eyes trailed to the three letters on the table. Two of them were addressed to Lady Lannister, one bearing his son’s hand. The third letter was written to him from his wife. His weariness had quickly turned to relief upon reading her words. Tywin Lannister’s men were still in the Riverlands, but they had stopped their attacks, further proving what Lady Lannister had told him.

He turned his eyes back to the window just as a cloaked man stopped Lady Lannister. He could see the fatigue on her face, even at a distance. Despite that, she remained to speak to the man, gesturing to the inn door. The man moved to the side to allow Lady Lannister to pass, giving an exaggerated bow as he did so. 

Ned wondered, as the man followed her in, if the man was friend or foe. He wore no sigils, no recognizable colors. All there was to judge on was Lady Lannister’s reaction, and judging by her lack of surprise, he was more friend. 

She joined him in the room not long after, casting a brief look at his two sleeping daughters. They had woken once, earlier in the evening, and eaten dinner before the exhaustion claimed them once more. He could see, now that she was closer, that her limp was much more pronounced than it had been when they set out that morning; a light sheen of sweat had covered her forehead from the pain.

Eddard could understand. His own injury had started showing signs of infection not even a week after their escape from King’s Landing. Lady Lannister had insisted they stop when she had noticed his discomfort, and had helped him clean the ugly wound thoroughly in the river. The redness around his wound had slowly receded after that, and it no longer caused him as much pain to walk on that leg.

“How is your side, Lady Lannister?”

She cast him a side glance and he quickly looked away when she began pulling up her tunic. Despite her being his son’s age, he didn’t want her to think he was being inappropriate with her. 

“I’m afraid I can’t much tell how it’s healing.” There was a long pause. He watched her boots come into view as she came to stand in front of him, but he didn’t look up. As if sensing his discomfort, Lady Lannister said, “it’s alright . I am covered, Lord Stark.” He could almost hear the smirk she had on her face as she spoke.

Ned turned his eyes back to her, taking in the wound on her side. The stitching that had held the wound closed had torn her skin, leaving the cut looking red and raw. He could tell from the faint yellow tinge to her skin and pus leaking from the wound that it had already become infected, and knew that it would have to be cleaned even more thoroughly than his own wound had been. He wouldn’t allow his and his daughters’ savior to succumb to something as simple as an old battle wound.

“It will have to be cleaned, thoroughly. I will send word to my son that we will not travel until the wound is clear of infection.”

He listed to her sigh, and sent her a chastising look that had her immediately averting her eyes. Ned knew that if Lady Lannister had her way, they would be riding out the next day, regardless of any injury she had.

“Arya and Sansa will help you clean your wound in the morning. I suggest you get some rest. The ordeal will not be pleasant.”

* * *

Ned didn’t know if he had expected Lady Lannister to scream when his daughters cleaned her wound. She was surprisingly patient, even when Sansa accidentally cut her attempting to remove her torn stitching. He watched her grimace as the stitches came free, her skin tugging with them. Aside from her limited reactions, the shine of tears on her cheeks was the only sign of her pain.

He knew Lady Lannister had been distraught when she finally saw the wound. Sansa had made a noise of disgust when she saw it, and the elder girl had insisted on seeing it through a small looking glass.

After Sansa removed the stitching, she fled from the room, her face pale and slightly green. Ned took her place, directing Arya as she began to scrub at the infection with a wet cloth. Lady Lannister dug her hand into his arm, breathing heavily, and he gave her a small pat on her shoulder before helping his daughter clean the wound.

“Some of the dead skin will have to be cut off,” he stated, watching as Arya’s face lost all color at the same time Lady Lannister’s did. 

“Do what you must,” she replied through clenched teeth, and he had Arya bring him a knife as he started a fire in the hearth. Lady Lannister watched with apprehensive eyes as the flames leapt up, licking at the knife’s blade. 

Arya’s eyes were wide, though she made no move to leave. He had Lady Lannister bite down on his belt, then had Arya hold her down as he hovered over the girl, cutting away the blackened skin.

The three of them were panting by the time he was done, Lady Lannister’s muffled screams ringing in their ears. She had passed out, Ned noticed with a sense of relief, and he began to clean away the blood, insisting Arya fetch Sansa with clean rags. His daughter was still pale, but she did as she was told with a determined look on her face, knowing that, without further cleaning, the wound would get worse.

She returned with Sansa not long after. He noticed Sansa had been crying, her tears drying on her cheeks. She was carrying a bowl of fresh water, the liquid steaming, and reached for the clean cloths as Arya dumped the bloodied water out the window. Ned reached for one of the clean cloths, dipping it in the steaming water and rubbing gently around Lady Lannister’s wound. It had stopped leaking pus, for which Eddard was relieved.

“We’ll leave in a few days.” His voice was weary, and he rubbed a hand down his sweaty face, realizing only then that his hands were shaking. He was no stranger to causing pain, but hearing Lady Lannister’s agonized screams, even muffled as they were, as he cut away her flesh was too much for even him.

* * *

It was nearly nightfall by the time he returned to the room, having gone to the stables to tend to their horses. Sansa was just finishing up stitching the wound closed, her hands steady. He could tell from the downward turn of her lips just how displeased she was to be doing such a task. Lady Lannister was chatting with her, a thin sheen of sweat covering her face, complimenting her for the clean stitches and her steady hands.

Sansa’s face was red, and she replied back that she had never sewn another human shut before. She had a peculiar look in her eye, as if she wanted to ask a question but couldn’t find the courage to voice it. She opened her mouth several times before Arya joined her at Lady Lannister’s bedside, the younger girl’s eyes bright.

“How did you get injured? You said you were injured in battle. Who were you battling?”

Eddard let out a low chuckle as Sansa shot her sister an infuriated look. Now doubt his older daughter was trying to find a way to ask the same question, in a much more subtle way. Arya, though, was fascinated when it came to warrior women; nothing could stop her questions from coming.

“Your brother sent two-thousand men to distract my father while the rest of his men fought my brother’s army. I was injured during that battle; one of his men had found a weakness in my armor. My father and his advisors decided that I would be better off negotiating your release so they may sue for peace with your brother.”

Ned knew without a doubt that Tywin Lannister could easily expand his army, especially with the large amounts of gold in his possession. He had to wonder why the man was so concerned about peace with the north, when he could buy loyalties and crush his son easily. 

Lady Lannister looked up at him, gesturing to a piece of paper he hadn’t seen before. “A letter from my informant,” she told him, attempting to sit up. “Renly Baratheon has named himself king. I am sure that he’s rallying support in the Stormlands as we speak, and considering his… relationship with the Knight of Flowers, I have no doubt the Tyrells will find a way to support him. Likewise, Stannis Baratheon has also declared himself king. He’ll likely have fewer supporters than Renly, due to his lack of charisma, but he has plenty gold to buy himself more men, and more ships.”

The answer to his questions was all too clear now. “Your father wants peace so he can worry about the two contenders for the throne,” Eddard asked, receiving a wry grin in response.

The blonde woman shifted, wincing as she was finally able to sit up. “My father also respects your son. Not only did he lead a host of men to war at just seven and ten, but he has won every battle, and his own men have _declared_ him a king.”

Nod nodded, sitting down heavily in the chair by the window. “Those men yesterday, how did you manage to get away from them without further injuring yourself?”

A light blush spread across her cheeks, though he didn't know if it was from embarrassment or something else. “The men were sent by my father to ensure that the rest of our trip would be a peaceful one. They will be shadowing us until we are a day from Riverrun, then they will return to Harrenhal to inform my father of our arrival. I am also to deliver a letter from my father to your son once we reach Riverrun. I assume it contains the terms for the agreement for my father’s men to leave the Riverlands.”

* * *

Lady Lannister was reading one of her letters in bed when Ned returned from breaking his fast. The troubled look on her face was anything but reassuring. “Lord Stark,” she gasped, breaking from her reverie, “I have received a letter from my nephew regarding the assassination attempt on your son.” 

Ned turned to her expectantly and gestured for her to continue. 

“He has been working with Lord Varys to find the truth for you, at my request. Lord Varys sees and hears most everything; he would be most likely to find the answers you are looking for, and he has. It appears that someone your wife trusted most was responsible for the assassination attempt on your son. Likewise, that person also betrayed you,” she sent him a pointed look, and he understood who she was talking of almost instantly, “in the attempt to gain her heart.”

He should have taken the girls and left King’s Landing as he had planned, rather than following Littlefinger to the brothel. That would have solved the whole mess before it started, but he was too _curious_ and he certainly hadn’t expected a _whore_ to have been the last person Jon Arryn spoke to. 

Ned wondered if Lord Baelish had known he would follow and had tipped Jaime Lannister off accordingly. He was bound to be injured or killed in the confrontation, he knew that much when he had been surrounded. An injury had caused him to remain in King’s Landing, and grudgingly accept the position of Hand once again. Though, how much of his arrest, he wondered, was due to Cersei Lannister’s whisperings?

“There are many reasons Lord Baelish might have to want a child of yours dead. I’m sure he was hoping that the assassination would cause you to blame my family, create an even larger rift than what already existed, and cause certain events to be set into motion.”

Eddard opened his mouth to object, but didn't have any words to say to try to reassure her. He knew as well as she did that they had suspected her family instantly. Having Littlefinger point his finger at Tyrion Lannister had been what had started the whole mess. While he hadn’t expected Cat to kidnap the Imp, he couldn’t deny that he had been furious when Littlefinger informed them that the dwarf had won the dagger from him. 

“Regardless, I’ve never seen the dagger which you’ve described in Tyrion’s possession. I have, however, seen the late King Robert with a dagger such as that. It would be easy enough to steal once the kind was occupied, no?”

“Aye,” Ned agreed with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. Robert had kept far away from his rooms during the majority of his stay in Winterfell, eager to be as far from his cold wife as possible. With the number of servants he had brought along, as well as guards and the freeriders that had joined him during his trip north, anyone could have snuck into the king’s rooms and stolen the dagger.

“It’s just as likely that Cersei sent the assassin as it is that Lord Baelish did, though,” Lady Lannister admitted, a sheepish look crossing her face. “But whatever your son saw, no one would believe over the word of a queen. Lord Baelish had more to gain, and less to lose, from your son’s death.”

He had to agree with her once more. Littlefinger had seemed so believable while he had been in King’s Landing. That was the reason Ned had placed his trust in him over others. Now, he had to wonder how much of what Littlefinger did was in order to somehow win his wife over. It was no secret he held disdain for Ned’s elder brother for “stealing” Catelyn away from him. It seemed that the dislike he held for his brother had transferred to him upon his marriage to Catelyn.

* * *

Lady Lannister found him by the stables again the next morning, the letter from his son clutched in her hand. It was still early, the light mists that accumulated overnight still hovering over the ground, the sun not even touching the horizon yet. Ned had been out there all night, trying to clear his head, to understand _why_ Lord Baelish would want his son dead. Lady Lannister’s argument was sound, though. The man had less to lose than any other person they suspected, after all.

“I’m not in the habit of sharing my personal letters,” she began, sitting next to him on a bale of hay. “However, as this partially includes you, I believe you should read it.” Her expression was unsure as she held the letter out for him to take.

The letter held no more clues as to what its contents could be as it did the night it arrived. The direwolf seal was broken now, split through the middle, though the direwolf’s snarl was still visible in the wax. Ned took it, unrolling it to read through the messy writing.

_Lady Lannister,_

_I have received a letter from your nephew, King Joffrey, giving the terms of my family's return. Should my family be returned safely and unharmed, the Kingslayer will be returned to your father’s camp. After his release, you will accompany us North, where you will act as Emissary between the North and Southern Kingdoms._

_Any other information not stated in this letter will be discussed upon your arrival to Riverrun._

_Safe travels,  
King Robb Stark_

“Your son will do well as king,” she told him, a small smile on her lips. “He is surprisingly diplomatic for his age, yet he can still get his message across with a few simple words. The makings of a great king, if I may say so. It appears my father didn’t give your son enough credit.”

The shock must have shown on Ned’s face, for Lady Lannister soon broke out into quiet laughter. It was nice, he realized, to see her so carefree. She was carrying a large burden, Ned knew, having to keep their lives and escape largely a secret. Since their escape from King’s Landing, he had only briefly seen a small smile cross her face, and only once had she outright laughed.

“Come, my Lord. We must begin preparations if we are to leave this morning.”

* * *

“What will you do once we reach Winterfell, my Lady,” questioned Eddard as they were saddling the horses. 

The question had plagued his mind since he had found out Lady Lannister would be accompanying them home. He knew Sansa and Arya wouldn’t mind her living with them. They had both become good friends with the elder girl; Ned knew she would need them in the coming months, even before their arrival at Winterfell. His wife would not be kind to her, regardless of the girl’s obvious lack of involvement in Bran’s accident.

“I’m not quite sure, Lord Stark. I will act as Emissary when need be, of course. Perhaps I’ll find a position as a seamstress, though I have never been very fond of needlework. Being as cut off from my family as I will be, though, I will require some sort of income, even if it is a meager one.”

Eddard watched her eyes glaze over, as though she was deep in thought. Both of them had stopped saddling their horses at the question, and were now facing each other. He could see the uncertain look on her face, the same look she had worn earlier that morning. From what he could tell, she had always been surrounded by someone from her family, be it her brothers or her father. He had noticed a rift between her and Cersei, though he thought better than to ask about it, when the family had visited Winterfell.

“My nephew and father would have insisted I marry your son, had he not already promised himself to a Frey girl to cross the Trident. Despite the tentative treaty between them, I know your son will still not trust my family, and they know as well. They would prefer to secure a stronger alliance between us, and a marriage to your son would help that. Now, I would be lucky to find a Northern man that could look past my name long enough to marry me. I suppose, since I will be under your son’s care, _he_ will be tasked with the finding of a husband for me, rather than my father.”

She shook her head, turning back to her horse. They had already finished saddling the horses for Arya and Sansa. “Perhaps you should inform your daughters that we are to leave soon.” She turned her eyes to the sky and Eddard followed her gaze, watching the dark clouds pass above them. “The sooner we leave, the better. A storm is on its way.”

He nodded and headed inside to the room that they had all shared. His girls were slowly packing away their few belongings, their eyes watching the sky anxiously. Lady Lannister wouldn’t allow them to stay through the storm, though. He could tell, after many days, that she was eager to continue on. Neither of them wanted any of Cersei’s men to inadvertently find them on the road, and they had already lost some days to Lady Lannister’s recovery.

“Girls, we need to be going.”

Eddard watched Arya as she bounced out the door, listening to her pounding footsteps as she ran down the stairs. He wanted to be suspicious, to not trust his daughter alone with a Lannister, but he couldn’t help the feeling that they _could_ trust her. What man, in his right mind, would send his daughter of six and ten years to do his dirty work? Not even Tywin Lannister was _that much_ of a snake.

Arya was babbling excitedly about the Tullys when Ned and Sansa joined them at the horses. Lady Lannister was securing Arya’s pack to the horse while she listened. Ned watched the two of the interact, Arya’s eyes bright and Lady Lannister responding in all the right places. She was good with his daughters; he had found that out during their ride to the Crossroads Inn. She knew the exact things to say to please both of them, despite their vast differences.

Soon enough, they would reach Riverrun. Neither of his girls had gotten the chance to meet their mother’s side of the family, with the length of time needed to travel from Winterfell to Riverrun. He could tell that both girls were excited in their own ways—Arya with her nonstop talking and Sansa with a pleased smile on her face—to meet their uncles and grandfather.

“And my great uncle is the Blackfish! He fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and he was a _battle commander_! And he’s so special, he has his _own sigil_ , with a black trout instead of a silver one, cause of his name!”

Lady Lannister laughed, helping the young girl onto her horse. Eddard helped Sansa onto her horse, and mounted his with little pain. His leg was healing nicely, soon he would be able to put all his weight on it without pain. He noticed Lady Lannister’s wince as she mounted her own horse. He wondered if riding a horse would be detrimental to her healing, but knew better than to say anything. She was stubborn, he would give her that.

* * *

They made good time after leaving the cart, though Sansa kept complaining of her back hurting. She had ridden in the wheelhouse with Cersei and her younger children to King’s Landing, and before that, in the cart holding their belongings; she had never been fond of riding horseback even during their sparse visits to other castles.

Lady Lannister assured Sansa that they would arrive at the Inn of the Kneeling Man before long, and would be able to eat and sleep in comfort then. Ned knew that it would be nearly a week before they reached the inn, though there were smaller ones scattered along the River Road. 

Sansa fell quiet after those reassurances, only speaking to ask about their clothes. While Sansa had her few spare dresses, and Arya a spare tunic and breeches, Ned only had the clothes on his back. He was sure that the rest of their belongings had been destroyed or given to the poor after they fled King’s Landing; it would look suspicious to send the clothes of a dead man back to his family.

“I am going to the seamstress once we arrive in Riverrun. Should you wish it, you may accompany me. I will pay for any dresses you wish to have made,” Lady Lannister informed his daughter.

Sansa gave her a wide smile in reply and Eddard couldn’t help but laugh. At the mention of dresses, Arya had stopped paying attention, and had instead crossed her arms, a sullen look on her face. He noticed then that she looked very much like Jon did when he was brooding, being the only other of his children to have the Stark features.

“Don’t worry, Lady Arya, I will have some leggings and tunics made for you. I’m sure your mother cannot like me any less than she did when I visited Winterfell.”

While Arya still appeared to be ignoring Lady Lannister, Ned could see the small smile that had replaced her sullen look. He hoped that he and his daughters could make Lady Lannister feel welcome in the north. Gods only knew she would need all the friendly faces she could get.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woopsie! This was meant to be chapter five, NOT Reunion! Sorry about that! I'll be getting Reunion back up in just a little while!

### Dark Wings

##### BRAN

The raven arrived shortly before Bran’s lessons with Maester Luwin were to begin, and instantly had him on edge. Since his mother had left, ravens had brought nothing but bad news. _Dark wings, dark words_ , they would say, and Bran couldn’t help the feeling that the saying would always be right. The first raven had brought word of Jon Arryn’s death and King Robert’s impending arrival. Since then, nothing good had happened.

On top of the foreboding words the raven was sure to bring, Bran had been having strange dreams about his father, of him haunting Winterfell’s crypts. He knew that Rickon was having similar dreams, having encountered his younger brother in the crypts just days before. The dreams had started when Robb took the banners and marched south, and had only gotten clearer and clearer. Then, they had suddenly become as vague as they had started, as though his father’s fate was once again unknown.

He dreaded when another raven would come, bringing worse news than they had already received. He wondered if this would be the one. Would they find out their father really was dead? His sisters would be kept as captives, he knew, to ensure that his family didn’t strike against the crown. But he also knew Robb would do anything to get them back, even attack King’s Landing, if it came to that.

The letter, which Maester Luwin read aloud to him as he worked on his sums, was worse than he ever could have imagined. Never had his dreams hinted that his sisters would die too. But alas, his father was dead from a festered wound, and his sisters were dead in their grief.

It sounded like a story to him, made up to please the people of King’s Landing, and maybe even the Queen Regent. His father _had_ been prisoner for long enough for his wound to fester, just from the unhealthy space he was kept in, and Arya was reckless enough to do something stupid like attack the new king, but he didn’t believe for a moment that Sansa would throw herself from the keep’s battlements. 

He decided that he wouldn’t have Maester Luwin tell Rickon yet, at least until they heard from their mother or Robb about their father’s death. _It’s just a story_ , he repeated in his head, trying to focus on the paper in front of him.

He didn’t even realize Hodor had carried him back to his room until he was sat in his bed, propped up on his pillows. His thoughts had turned to a jumbled mess, his mind going numb from the shock that was attempting to set in. Only Summer at his side, his fingers tangled in his fur, kept him grounded.

If he thought Rickon was bad now, he didn’t want to imagine how he would be upon hearing of their father’s death, even fabricated as he thought it was.

* * *

Another bird arrived the next day, bearing his family’s direwolf seal and Robb’s messy hand. A sense of dread filled him. Unlike all other nights, he hadn’t dreamt of his father haunting Winterfell’s crypts; even the vague dreams had eluded him, the only night that he had been free from dreams at all. He knew Rickon hadn’t dreamt either. If he had, his younger brother would have already been down in the crypts, searching for their lord father.

Bran sent Osha to find Rickon, knowing he would have to be told of their father’s fate today. Robb’s letter would tell them whether their father was alive or not.

Osha didn’t take long to find and bring Rickon to him. He had been hoping she would take longer; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what was in the letter yet. Rickon was clung to Osha’s skirt, the typical scowl he had started wearing when their mother left still set on his face. Osha ushered him to a seat and when he was sat, arms crossed, she went back to her work. 

Maester Luwin unfurled the paper, his eyes skimming over Robb’s hasty scrawl. Bran knew he had already read the letter once, but had given no indication as to what it said. The small smile at the corners of his mouth, however, did.

“Lord Robb has been declared King in the North by his lords,” he began, looking at Bran and Rickon. “That makes the two of _you_ princes. Your lord father and sisters have also been released from King’s Landing as per an agreement between King Joffrey and Lord— _King_ —Robb. They should arrive in Riverrun in less than a month, if his timing is accurate.”

The dark look that had been on Rickon’s face the past few weeks seemed to dissipate in an instant. Bran could see the look of excitement creeping into his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to share it. They were returning, yes, but how many would remain in the fields of blood left in the war’s wake? Would his brother even live to return home?

“Maester Luwin, please send word to Jon and Uncle Benjen about what has happened. I’m sure they’ll want to see father once he has returned. Also, send a raven back to Riverrun and inform that we’ll begin preparations for their return upon their word.”

The maester left, leaving Bran and Rickon alone in the great hall. Servants bustled around them, going about their daily tasks.

“Mother will want to know how you’ve been behaving,” Bran started, ignoring the foul look that crossed Rickon’s face. “So long as you don’t give anyone else a hard time, and listen to Maester Luwin and Osha, I won’t say anything, nor will anyone else.”

Rickon looked down to the table, embarrassed. “You won’t tell Robb what I said before he left, will you?”

Bran shook his head, fighting down the feeling of shame that churned in his belly. “I thought the same thing as you. And if the Queen had her way, I’m sure father’s body would be rotting in a dungeon right now. Besides, Robb made a deal with _Lannisters_. What else do you think he would have done to get Sansa and Arya back?”

Bran sat back in his seat, a thoughtful look on his face. He wondered if Jon had taken his vows. Now that Robb was a king, there was the chance that Jon could finally be legitimized as a Stark, as much as their mother would hate it. He knew Robb wouldn’t even suggest legitimizing Jon if he had already said his vows. Jon had left for the wall because there was nothing for him in Winterfell. Even Theon, a _prisoner_ , had been treated better than him. Jon would only be bitter and angry with them if he were legitimized after already taking his vows.

He had never been as close to Jon as he had wanted to be, but none of them, barring his mother and possibly Sansa, had wanted Jon out of the family. His mother’s contempt for Jon was clear enough, though, and Bran could never bring himself to form the same sort of bond with him as he had with his true siblings. Regardless, Jon had helped him every time he had needed it, and had never complained for the looks he received from Lady Stark.

He sighed and glared at his food. The raven hadn’t helped to clear his thoughts, nor had it eased any of his worries. Instead, his thoughts remained heavy, thinking of what Robb being king could mean for the rest of the Stark children. Him and Rickon were princes now, whether they liked it or not. He knew Sansa would be overjoyed to hear she was a princess. Arya, on the other hand, would likely be dismayed. She never _did_ like to act as a proper lady should.

* * *

Four days later brought word from the wall, though Bran had secretly been hoping it was more news from Riverrun. While Uncle Benjen would be unable to return to Winterfell—he had gone beyond the wall ranging, and wasn’t expected back for another week, at the least—Jon would be returning, having yet to take his vows.

The wall, Jon had written, was not at all what they liked or were taught to believe. While being a member of the Night’s Watch had once been a great honor, it was now filled with criminals looking to escape their punishments. Normally, the training would continue only until the new recruits would arrive, but the recent batch, Jon stated, were so helpless with a sword, they had prolonged the training. The current trainees weren’t set to take their vows for another couple months, at the least, long enough for Jon to return to the wall if Winterfell was as unwelcoming as before.

Jon would be bringing a friend he had met there, Samwell Tarly, who was looking to learn to be a maester, but wasn’t planning to attend the Citadel for his teachings. Bran was looking forward to their arrival, though he knew the trip would take nearly a month. Winterfell was so _boring_ now that everyone was gone. 

The training yards were especially silent, the noise only broken when the remaining household guard would take turns for their daily training. Bran was often found in the small area designated for archery training, practicing archery from his new, custom saddle. 

He had to admit, not all Lannisters were bad—Tyrion Lannister was the one to give them the design for the saddle, after all, and had even seemed to possess a genuine concern about his well-being.

Many families held different ideals for the way the world should be run. Starks believed that everyone should be honorable, whereas Lannisters viewed honor as a weakness.

* * *

The month seemed to pass by slowly, far slower than it had even after hearing of their father’s imprisonment. Bran received no more word from his mother or brothers, though he was expecting Jon to arrive before long. Already he could picture the disdainful look on his lady mother’s face when she heard of Jon’s return; he hoped Jon wouldn’t mind putting up with their mother for them.

Bran was finally able to relax as the last petitioner left the hall. Holding court wasn’t something he had been required to learn at his age, and he was glad he wouldn’t be required to partake once his father and brother returned. He had never been jealous of Robb, and holding court while his family was away further cemented those feelings.

Rickon sat to his right, scowl in place once more. While the ravens earlier in the month had served to give them hope—even ease Rickon’s acting out for a time—the long silence did nothing for his younger brother’s mood. 

Once Jon arrived, he wouldn’t have to worry about Rickon. His brother had been so enamored with Ghost before Jon had left, Bran couldn’t see him ignoring the white direwolf upon his return. Now, all they would have to do was wait.

* * *

They didn’t have to wait long. Less than half a day passed before Jon and Samwell rode through the East gate. Both were dressed similarly in black, already donning the signature garb of the Night’s Watch. 

Samwell was a large fellow, Bran noted, round as Hodor was tall. He was nice enough, though, and had aspirations to be a maester on top of that. It was good, he thought. The man hardly seemed like he would be able to hold his own against someone trained with a sword, let alone against the unpredictable nature of wildlings. 

His half-brother looked no more worse for wear than he had before Bran’s fall, though he still wore the same dour look. He was sure the Night’s Watch, or training for it, had just as much part in his expression as the impending return of Bran’s lady mother.

Part of Bran knew why his mother hated Jon so much, and it had nothing to do with their father sleeping with another woman. Jon was older than Robb by some months—their father hadn’t even been married to their mother when he had been conceived. No, it was the fact that their bastard brother looked more like a Stark than all of her sons. Their father never bore her ill-will from that fact, but she hated Jon regardless.

“Bran,” Jon started, crouching down to eye level before him. He hated being forced to sit upon the hard wooden chairs made for him all day; he wished he could be on his feet, run and ride horseback without trouble. “I trust you and Rickon have not been giving the maester a hard time.”

There was an unveiled amusement in Jon’s eyes that Bran had never been privy to before. Despite him being closer to Jon than Sansa, Bran had only seen such openness with Arya. Perhaps time away from their mother had been good for Jon, though, with his mother’s abrupt departure, he knew he could have had that in Winterfell.

“Of course, Jon. We are only the perfect lords our father wished us to be while he is away.”

His statement drew a loud laugh from Jon and an even louder yip from Ghost, who Bran noticed had wandered through the gates as Jon approached. The white direwolf, while being the runt of the litter, showed no indication of that now. He was even larger than Summer, his blood red eyes making Bran uneasy.

“Have a servant bring Samwell to the guest quarters. Jon, your room has been untouched, you’re welcome to reside there during your stay, if you wish.”

Jon looked unsure, thought Bran couldn’t imagine why. No one in Winterfell would object to him taking his empty chambers, aside from his mother, though she wouldn’t be returning for another month. Jon would have his peace until then, at the very least.

Bran was left alone in the courtyard after that, Hodor fidgeting behind him as he usually did. He wished he could have enjoyed being a child more, but his fall had taken that, as well as his mother, away from him. He had started dreaming of that day, though the dreams afforded him no clue as to who had pushed him. He saw nothing, just a faint gold light, and heard little, just garbled words between a man and a woman.

He hoped that his family’s return would bring answers with them. Until then, he would continue being Lord of Winterfell in his father’s absence.

Never had such an idea seemed as bleak as it did in that moment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted the first interlude in a series titled (you guessed it) [Interludes](http://archiveofourown.org/series/456142). Any and all AUs and Interludes that are related to this story will be found there!

### Reunion

##### ROBB

Robb and his mother had just retired to his solar after dinner when the guard was admitted. As the guard approached, Robb spotted his squire’s curious face peeking through the crack in the door, though Olyvar quickly backed up when he saw his king’s face. He knew the boy, nearly two years his junior, was only curious, far too curious for his own good. Too many would feel slighted if they thought Robb was allowing someone to listen to their conversation, whether the room was left open or not.

“What is it,” he asked, setting down the most recent report from his scouts. It said the same thing that all the others had said, that the Lannisters had stopped their march, and that some of his lords were seen near the Lannister camp, though Robb had sent those men.

“Riders have been spotted in the distance, your Grace,” the guard said, giving a quick bow and leaving the room as quickly as he had come.

Rob exchanged a look with his mother, noticing the same look of surprise on her face that his likely had. They both followed the guard quickly, eager to see who the riders were. Robb hoped it was his sisters and father. The past week had held many disappointments, as unexpected riders were seen; many of them were just men reporting from their posts, as was expected at least once every couple weeks. He knew his mother couldn’t take another disappointment—the loneliness that followed her had just gotten worse the longer she was separated from his father.

His men were gathered in a half circle near the gates, preventing anyone from entering or leaving without permission. Some looked ready to draw their weapons, Lord Karstark bearing a scowl on his face. Others simply looked curious as to who the riders were.

The night held a distinct chill, reminiscent of the North after the late summer snows. Many of the Riverlands men looked uncomfortable, their clothing not being as thick and durable as the northern clothes were made, but his lords looked at ease in the chilly air, many of them having opted to go without their cloaks.

The cold gave Robb hope that he would return to his brothers and Winterfell before long, as silly as he felt for hoping for such a thing. As long as Tywin Lannister and King Joffrey kept their words—something both he and his mother were skeptical of—they would be marching north within the fortnight.

His lords joined him by the gates, sending their men off to continue whatever tasks they had been given before the shout of riders. They stood behind him, silently showing their support for any man or woman that rode through the gates to see; Lord Karstark, though normally intimidating, emitted a dangerous air with his hand on his sword hilt. Next to Robb stood his mother, who looked almost queenly with her high cheekbones and stern gaze, and Olyvar stood on his other side, standing taller than one would think a Frey could.

“Send a rider to meet them,” Robb ordered, and Olyvar immediately went to fetch someone to do as he bid. The boy would do anything Robb asked; he thought it was because Olyvar was glad to be away from his father, but couldn’t bring himself to ask about it. The boy was fiercely loyal to Robb, a trait many lacked.

His mother turned to him as one of his men rode past on a horse, her loose hair flying in the wind. “You will be taking her weapons, right Robb? She shouldn’t be allowed to roam free with weapons while she’s here.”

If he hadn’t been standing before his lords, Robb might have rolled his eyes. He and his mother had argued for quite a time about whether Lady Lannister would be allowed to keep her weapons upon their arrival in Riverrun. He had informed her, and his lords, that when she stepped through Riverrun’s gates, she would be stripped of any weapons she held. He hadn’t told his mother that he would allow her to have a dagger for her own protection; that would just cause more arguing, and he was _tired_ of it.

They waited for what felt like hours before his rider returned, four others in tow. He picked out Lady Lannister easily enough, her blonde hair shining red in the torchlight. Arya and Sansa rode in the front, hoods pulled over their heads, no doubt to keep anyone from recognizing them during their travels. Eddard rode next to Lady Lannister, his face more lined than Robb had ever seen it, but a look of relief shining in his eyes.

Sansa was off her horse the second they stopped moving, throwing herself at their mother with a delighted cry. Her hood fell back to reveal her hair, shorter than when they had departed for King’s Landing, but still done in a distinct northern style. Arya was at Robb’s side in the next instant, a large smile on her lips. He could see the tips of her hair brushing her cheeks, cut in such a way for her to appear as a boy if necessary. Their mother would not be pleased.

Both of his sisters were dirty from days of travel, but Robb couldn’t bring himself to care. He swept Arya into a tight hug, ruffling her short hair under her hood, then did the same to Sansa when their mother released her.

His attention was drawn back to his father when the man dismounted his horse, leaning slightly on Lady Lannister when she offered her help. Both of them had smiles on their faces, pleased at the reunion that was taking place before them. His father’s face looked less aged when he smiled, but Robb could see fatigue quickly replacing the relief in his eyes, the same fatigue that Robb’s own eyes held most nights.

Lord Bolton was the first of his lords to move, walking to where Lady Lannister now stood alone by her horse. He spoke to her in a quiet voice, too quiet for them to hear, and Robb saw her eyes flash to him before looking at Roose once more. They appeared to be familiar with each other, though Robb couldn’t imagine when they would have met. Soon, Lord Bolton was holding both of the lady’s short swords, something that didn’t go unnoticed by either of his sisters.

“Hey! You can’t have those,” Arya shouted angrily, then looked up at Robb expectantly. He wanted to groan. She would be even angrier once she learned it was _his_ decision to remove her weapons. “Robb, tell him he can’t take Lady Emmeline’s swords! She needs them for protection, and—”

Lady Lannister stepped forward and placed a hand on Arya’s shoulder—a hand that his mother was now glaring daggers at. “It’s alright, Lady Arya. I’m sure no harm will come to me while I’m under your brother’s protection.” Her words were both a reassurance to Arya and a question for Robb. He inclined his head in quiet affirmation but didn’t miss the flicker of her eyes toward where Lord Karstark stood, his hand clutching his sword’s hilt tightly.

His mother cut in as a particularly cold burst of air hit them, cutting Arya off before she could say anything more. “Girls, why don’t we head in to your rooms? I’m sure you’re both tired after such a long journey.”

Sansa followed their mother without a word, though Arya gave Lady Lannister one last long look before doing the same. Robb could tell she was worried about the girl in front of him, and wasn’t sure if he should be offended that she didn’t trust him, or glad that she had seemingly found a friend in another woman. His lords also headed inside the castle, no doubt to seek the comfort of their own beds before they had to, once again, begin planning in the morning.

Robb was left in the chill of the night with his father, who gave him a pointed look, and Lady Lannister. The woman was clutching her cloak tightly. He was surprised she hadn’t grown accustomed to the cold yet—the weather had gotten increasingly colder since the beginning of the week—though she was likely used to the Summer’s warm sun, something the north did not have in abundance.

“Father, Lady Lannister, if you would accompany me to my solar?”

He knew his sworn swords were likely nearby, each of them preferring to keep their distance when he was with family, and knew they would follow.

* * *

A knock on his door the next morning startled him. Robb was barely dressed and rubbing sleep from his eyes when his door was opened. The Smalljon stood on the other side, with Lady Lannister standing somewhat awkwardly behind him. Robb could understand why. The Smalljon, contrary to his name, was quite a large man, especially compared to Lady Lannister’s short stature.

“Lady Lannister requests an audience with your Grace.”

The woman looked appalled by the careless tone that the Smalljon spoke to him in. Many of his sworn swords spoke to him in such a manner; he would prefer for them to be more comfortable around him, rather than have them use stiff pleasantries. He let out a chuckle before he replied, “Take Lady Lannister to my solar, I will be just a moment longer.”

The door closed once more after a quick “your Grace” and he let out a tired sigh. She would, no doubt, be wondering when her brother would be released. He wasn’t looking forward to announcing to her that he would be taking the man’s hand, but he could not let the Kingslayer’s crimes go unpunished.

He quickly laced up his leather vest and ran a hand through his messy curls. His mother had suggested that he get his hair cut, to appear more _kingly_ , she had said. But he was a Northman, making himself appear more prim and proper wouldn’t change that in the eyes of the southerners, especially to those who wanted him dead.

Dacey was stood in front of his solar door, her back to the small crack left in the door. Robb was glad she had chosen to guard the door, rather than have one of his lords stumble along their new guest. While they had all been polite enough the night before, he knew several of them, Karstark being one, would want him to take the Kingslayer’s head and keep the girl prisoner. He may have done that if his family wasn’t returned, but he couldn’t in good conscience, do that when he had a treaty on the line and when Lady Lannister had done nothing wrong.

Dacey bowed her head when he approached, a quiet “your Grace” falling from her lips. He half wanted to cringe, still not used to being addressed as such, but gave a curt nod back before opening the door completely.

Lady Lannister was standing by the window, the sun casting a golden halo on her hair. She hadn’t yet heard him come in, for which he was glad. Robb was able to observe her, determine if she was a threat, something he wouldn’t be able to do if she was already on the defensive. It was always said that a person let their guard down when they were alone, and a Lannister was no different.

She looked strangely vulnerable, in her dirty tunic and leggings. She hadn’t bathed yet, it seemed. He would have to ask his mother to give her a spare dress, so she could visit the seamstress and have her dirty clothes cleaned.

Lady Lannister turned from the window as he watched her, and her face showed a mixture of surprise and discomfort upon noticing that he was observing her. “I apologize, your Grace,” she curtsied, bowing her head. “I did not hear you come in.”

He walked forward, gesturing for her to sit. He noticed, with a bit of annoyance, that she waited for him to sit before seating himself opposite him. It seemed he wouldn’t be able to get even _her_ to treat him a little less formally, even though he was not _her_ king. “No need to apologize, Lady Lannister. I merely wished to observe you.”

A light blush spread across her cheeks at his honesty, though she held his gaze. _A lion doesn’t back down_ , he thought, resisting the urge to smirk. It wouldn’t do to make her think he was looking at her like she was his prey.

“I wish to discuss my brother’s release,” Lady Lannister stated, her voice strong. Were she anyone else, he would have thought she would make a fine queen. She radiated confidence, even in her soiled traveling clothes, and her voice held no room for argument. He remembered that girl from Winterfell who preferred her own company—the girl who expressed her desire to remain a simple lady—and wondered how someone could change so drastically in less than a year.

He nodded, leaning back in his chair. “I was expecting this conversation,” he told her, “but I’m afraid I cannot release your brother before he pays for what he did to mine.”

Lady Lannister inclined her head, murmuring a soft “of course” to urge him on. They both knew that he was speaking with false regret.

“I spoke with my father last night, after you had retired. I wanted to be sure that the actions I take will not affect the North, or this alliance, badly. We came to the decision that the Kingslayer will give that hand that he pushed my brother with. He may go on his way once he’s recovered.”

She looked at him sharply, but did not object. She would have been foolish to try to convince him to change his mind, especially after the way the eldest siblings had wronged his family.

“My father will not be happy with my brother losing a hand,” Lady Lannister spoke after a long silence, choosing her words carefully. Her brow was furrowed in thought, and he knew the news of her brother’s punishment troubled her. “ _I_ am not happy with this decision,” she added, giving him a calculating look. “However, a Lannister always pays their debts. If this is what he must give to clear his name with your family, he will do so.”

Robb nodded, standing. “Then I will take you to see him after you have cleaned yourself up,” he said before turning to leave. He almost groaned when she replied with a quick “your Grace” before he could reach the door.

* * *

“There’s someone to see you, Kingslayer.”

Robb couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice, though he did try, knowing Lady Lannister was not far behind him. In response to the tone, his captive turned and sneered at him, not seeing his sister hiding in the shadows. She had, reluctantly, stayed behind to allow Robb to announce her presence to the Kingslayer.

“Finally found the courage to visit me without your wolf at your side? Or has your mother finally thought about my offer?”

Before Robb could reply—he was sure his face was twisted in the disgust he was currently feeling—Lady Lannister stepped out of the shadows. He knew she must have seen the look cross his face. “Perhaps if you didn’t treat your captors with such contempt, they would treat you better in return.”

He watched as the Kingslayer’s head jerked in the direction of Lady Lannister’s voice, his eyes wide as he stared at his visitor. Robb still wasn’t sure if he wanted the two visiting, but she had assured him that they would not “conspire” to release the Kingslayer. He felt that she always knew what to say to get what she wanted. Perhaps that was a Lannister trait.

“Lena, what are you doing here? I _told_ father I didn’t want you fighting! I told him you would—”

Robb could see the Kingslayer’s tension now, the way his muscles pulled taut as he fought against the urge to attack. Never before had he seen the Kingslayer lose control of himself as he did in that moment.

Lady Lannister crossed the room, looking at the sparse furnishings. The chambers that the Kingslayer was kept in were located in the lowest part of the castle, the only things lower being the servants quarters and dungeons. The sun didn’t reach the room, leaving it in darkness and needing candles for the majority of the day.

Soon the woman was in front of her brother, reaching forward to rest her hands on his unshaven cheeks. The gesture was surprisingly gentle, Robb thought, as she stroked his bearded chin. Even after his observations of all the Lannister siblings, he would not have expected such a tender touch from a Lannister.

“I have not been captured, dear brother. I’ve come to negotiate your release, as well as your… punishment… for what you’ve done to Bran Stark.” Lady Lannister cast a look at Robb then, a hint of nervousness in her features, though she quickly masked it before turning to her brother. “Father and Joffrey have decided that I will go north with the Starks and their host, to act as Emissary, and you will be released to father.”

The Kingslayer’s eyes flashed to him, a dangerous fire burning within them. He knew the man would likely attack him at this news had his sister not been standing in front of him. “Send her back to my father and keep me!” He made to walk across the room, only being stopped as Lady Lannister pushed gently on his chest.

She was trying to calm him, her lips turned down in a frown. Robb couldn’t help but think that, in that moment, she looked regal, even in the dim lighting of the candles. His mother had laid out an emerald dress for the girl while she was bathing, thought she had been unhappy to do so. It brought out her eyes, he noted, before turning again to look at the Kingslayer.

“Your release was agreed upon for the return of my father and sisters,” Robb stated, already feeling annoyed. The Kingslayer was spitting accusations at him under his breath as he listened. “Your sister will not be locked up and never seen again. Lady Lannister will be acting as emissary between the North and the six kingdoms, and will be our _guest_.”

He had never seen Jaime Lannister so panicked, even when faced with the north, with _all_ of Westeros, knowing the truth of the child king’s parentage. In fact, before today, Robb had not seen a single expression on the Kingslayer’s face other than cool indifference and mockery.

“It’s alright, brother. They will treat me well, and I will write to you whenever I can.” Lady Lannister’s voice was soothing, as though she were speaking to a child. Robb watched as the Kingslayer relaxed, sitting heavily in the chair he was stood by.

He didn’t look at Robb again.

“There is still the matter of your punishment,” she added after a moment of silence, her voice quiet and regretful. “The king will not release you until you have paid for crippling his brother. He is taking the hand that you used to push Bran Stark from the window.”

Robb watched as his captive’s face drained of color, the man sagging further in his chair.

“My sword hand.”

The Kingslayer’s voice was little more than a whisper, but Robb could see how shaken he was by the declaration. Lady Lannister reached forward once more, holding her brother’s face in her hands and kneeling before him.

“You can learn to wield a sword with your left hand. I know you will get through this.”

Robb couldn’t tell, but he thought the Kingslayer may have given his youngest sister a grateful smile, the first that would have touched his lips since he was taken as a prisoner of war. He had seen plenty of smirks grace the man’s lips, particularly when he would taunt one of Robb’s men, but never a genuine smile. Robb had trouble remembering, sometimes, that while the Lannisters were a house corrupt with riches and power, they still cared for family in their own ways.

He gave them a long look, hoping that Lady Lannister would get the message and give her farewells. He didn’t feel right cutting into their small reunion, despite Jaime Lannister being his prisoner.

“It appears the king is anxious to see the sun again. I will see you again, brother, whenever the king allows me to.”

* * *

His mother was waiting for them at the top of the steps, and gave an unamused look to Lady Lannister once they reached her. Robb had given the blonde woman his arm to help her up the steps, and he felt his mother was in no hurry for a Lannister to have their hands on him, regardless of how harmless they were.

Lady Lannister dropped her hand from his arm quickly enough, giving them both a quick curtsy and heading in the direction of her rooms. She _should_ have told her brother that she would be well taken care of, not treated well, he thought. Robb knew that if his mother had any say in it, Lady Lannister would be treated as though she were nothing but a common whore.

“Were you looking for me, mother?”

He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice, but he knew he must have failed by the way his mother’s lips pursed. She always did that when she was annoyed with them. Over the course of the past week, they had several arguments concerning their new guest. Catelyn was sure that the girl would stab him in the back at her first opportunity, and had gone so far as to have Lady Lannister’s weapons confiscated upon her arrival at Riverrun.

His mother glanced in the direction Lady Lannister had gone, her face cold. “You should not be spending too much time with that girl. I don’t trust her for a second.”

Robb rolled his eyes, turning his head in the same direction as his mother. Had his father been saying those words, he might have put more stock in them. It was his mother, though; his mother, who found herself on edge if the Lannister name was so much as _spoken_. He had hoped that she would be civil and make Lady Lannister feel even a little welcome. He feared that she might feel even lonelier, heading to the north with only his sisters and father for company.

“Lady Lannister has done nothing, thus far, to prove that she is untrustworthy. Perhaps we should wait to judge her until we know her better.”

That had been a lesson that their parents had ensured they learned. Regardless, that didn’t stop his family, and the Lannisters for that matter, from disliking others for past actions.

Rather than his words placating his mother, they only seemed to anger her further. She let out a short huff before picking up her skirts and storming down the hall. Robb knew that he would be hearing from his father later, regardless of what _he_ thought about Lady Lannister.

Robb sighed, turning in the opposite direction and heading to his council chambers. He had much planning with his lords should they wish to begin marching back north, and Robb was sure they would want to know more about the mysterious Emmeline Lannister. They had, after all, only gotten a glimpse of her as she arrived with his father and sisters. Since then, she had been locked in her chambers, only leaving to visit her brother.

He wondered if she would continue her stay at Riverrun in such a manner. If his mother continued to treat her with contempt whenever they were near, he feared she would. Sansa had assured him earlier in the day that Lady Lannister would be taking both his sisters to the seamstress for new clothes. He was glad that his sisters could, at the least, look past her name and get along with the girl underneath.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait between chapters! Work got pretty hectic, between getting the tent for the Garden Center ready, getting my department ready for Mother's Day, and then making sure everything was running smoothly for prom. Enjoy~

### Revelations and Second Thoughts

##### CERSEI

“Your lord father has begun his march again,” a man was telling Cersei. It had been just over a month since Joffrey’s coronation, and she had been excluded from council meetings and more. She had no idea what her son did or said at his meetings, and she had to wonder if that meant her darling boy didn’t trust her anymore.

The thought brought a sneer to her lips, causing the man to pause in his report. Cersei paid him no mind, instead wondering where her _dear sister_ had gotten to. Joffrey always put too much faith in his aunt. Her sister was the only one he would listen to other than her, though she tried to encourage him not to pay her too much mind. 

“Who is he marching on, then,” she questioned the man, pouring herself a glass of wine. She would leave her sister’s conspicuous absence for another time, despite the questions it brought to her mind.

The man stumbled over his words, looking as though he had tasted something bitter. Perhaps it was because he had to deal with her. Many of her father’s men were stubborn and difficult to control. “Oh, erm, no one, Your Grace. He has commanded his men to withdraw. They are returning to the Westerlands.”

Cersei paused with the glass to her lips, her mind spinning. There was no reason her father should withdraw. He could poison the minds of the Stark boy’s men with just some simple words and a handful of gold, win the war easily. Instead, he ordered his men to _withdraw_?

She slammed her glass down, a faint hint of pleasure coursing through her as she heard the base crack. _Why must it always be the woman’s job to ensure things go right_ , she thought to herself. After everything she had done, the men were still messing up her plans.

“Take me to the dungeons,” she told the man, a dangerous undertone in her voice, “I wish to see Ned Stark’s bones.”

The man nodded, stumbling over himself to do as she bid. She was sure that Joffrey would do something stupid; returning the Starks’ bones to the enemy was among that. She would do what was needed to ensure something so _foolish_ couldn’t happen under her watch.

They were stopped by two of the Kingsguard at the entrance to the dungeons, causing Cersei to sneer. If Jaime was here, he would let her by without any questions. Instead, she got these pathetic excuses for knights, only following her _son’s orders_. Did it mean nothing that she had been queen for seventeen years?

She was growing impatient. She had requested that she be escorted to the black cells to see the Starks’ bones, and been denied. She had _demanded_ that she be escorted and had _still_ been denied. They had the gall to tell her that it was the “King’s orders,” and that the Starks be left in peace. Even after their deaths had been reported, no one had so much as seen a hint of their bones.

The denial had only served to fuel her rage. She had orchestrated _everything_ , put her son, a _Lannister_ , on the throne, and this was how he repaid her? She had been denied countless requests since her son had been coronated, treated more as a meager guest than as the former queen. How _dare_ he?

* * *

Joffrey was lounging in his chair when she burst into his room, a book open in his lap. She wondered if that was what he did all day—sit and read—rather than attempt to get his uncle back. The regret began to swiftly replace her anger, regret that she had put such a _useless_ coward on the throne.

“Joffrey, I wish to see the Starks’ bones, _now_.”

The cold look in his eyes stopped her from advancing any further into the room. She had seen that look countless times, directed mainly at servants and sometimes her foul younger brother, but never had he directed that look at _her_. It was a look she had seen on her late husband’s face often when he had to deal with her or her twin, the look of pure loathing.

“Lord Baelish has volunteered to deliver the Starks’ bones to Riverrun, where Robb Stark and his mother are currently residing.”

She had never heard him speak in such a careless way where the Starks were concerned. Usually, his voice held as much contempt as she felt toward them. Since their deaths, he had stopped speaking of them in such a way. Instead, he avoided any conversations where they were brought up, insisting that they be left in peace. 

“I know what this is,” Cersei hissed after a moment, her shoulders tensing. “You and my father are too _cowardly_ to finish this war that you started with the Starks. _You_ started this war! Look at you now,” she looked at him, a disgusted look on her face, “hiding away in your room, _reading_. I didn’t raise a _coward_!”

“Good evening, mother,” Joffrey said in response, waving a hand.

Rough hands grabbed Cersei’s arms, forcing her out of his room. She felt her rage burn brighter at that, though she didn’t resist. Half-made plans came to the front of her mind. She would have preferred not to have to carry them out, but Joffrey was proving to be more resistant than she had originally thought.

Her wretch of a sister had to have played a part in his unwillingness to listen to her; that could be the only reason. Before the Starks’ untimely _deaths_ —she still didn’t believe they were really dead. She _refused_ to believe they were, at least until she received her proof—Joffrey had been perfectly content to sit back and let her rule in his stead. Now, she was the last to hear about any decisions he made, and her sister was _conveniently_ nowhere to be found.

Joffrey had even disregarded her suggestions and named his own Hand, though no one had cared to divulge the name to her. Even that damnable eunuch had been unusually tightlipped about the affair. Perhaps the new Hand was her father. It would explain his uncharacteristic withdrawal from the battlefield. Though, he would be just as difficult to control as her son; her plans would go nowhere with them in her way.

At this point, getting the new Hand on her side was her only option. She wasn’t above using her body to get the information she required, though gods forbid Jaime would find out. Once the Hand was on her side, it would be quite simple to get Joffrey to listen to her, even if she was using the Hands voice.

* * *

##### TYWIN

He was sat at the top of a hill, his red cloak billowing behind him in the wind. His black stallion—a gift from his youngest child—shifted impatiently, though Tywin paid him no mind. The order to withdraw had been sent out earlier in the week; far too late, in his opinion. For every day his men remained in the Riverlands, the chances of his youngest daughter being harmed increased.

He knew Jaime would not leave the North’s camp unharmed; such was the fate of a war prisoner. His daughter, however, was sent to broker peace, and he couldn’t even promise her safety while doing so.

He had mused on his decision more than he would have thought, wondering if he had made the right choice in sending his youngest child to the wolves’ den. He knew Cersei would be positively gleeful once she was told the news. Jaime, however, would be furious. The little monster he had to call his son had even speculated on such a choice, claiming the Starks could kill both of his children and be done with it. 

Tywin’s decision relied solely on the Starks holding honor above all else, as they so often claimed to. He had two decisions to choose from after her injury. He could have chosen the first option, sent her to King’s Landing to act as hand in his stead, but none other than Joffrey would listen to a woman in such a position. His other choice had been to stop the war between his men and the North, and his youngest was the only one innocent enough to make that possible. She didn’t carry the stigma that tarnished the Lannister name.

Stannis and Renly Baratheon were both building armies. Soon, he would need to turn his attention to them. The North leaving was for the best, even if he did have to give up his youngest child for it to happen. He didn’t anticipate seeing her again; he was sure the North would not allow her to leave once Winter set in, and even after, she would likely be sold off to marriage.

* * *

Winter was close. The chill in the air signaled its coming, leaving just months before the snow arrived. His men had done what they could to prepare themselves for the winter. It would not be enough. They were Southern men; most couldn’t remember the cold from the last winter, and the autumn chill was enough to know this one would be much worse.

Most of his men had successfully withdrawn from the Riverlands, Stark proving genuine in his promise and not attacking them as they retreated. Some of his men, the more _inexperienced_ fighters, had gone back to their families, claiming that they were done fighting. Others, more set in their ways, demanded they keep fighting. A small group had even broken away from his army. He would take care of them later, after the Baratheon threat had been taken care of. There was little they could do without his support, and even less against an army like Stark’s.

Tywin still had not heard from his youngest daughter. He had heard _plenty_ from Cersei, mostly complaints about Joffrey keeping her out of meetings, though she had also stated in her letters that she thought him a coward. Of course she had heard of his retreat back to the Westerlands. He had made sure to send a man to her with news of his movements, lest she become suspicious of hearing no news. No matter what she _thought_ she knew, the men he had sent for her protection were still loyal to _him_ above all.

“M’lord, a letter for you.”

Tywin sighed, taking the letter from his squire’s hand and waving him off. The boy scurried away, as he always did, as though he was afraid to be in Tywin’s presence for too long. Just as well; he preferred his privacy. 

_Father,_

_I apologize for not writing sooner. The Starks have accepted me as emissary, as you well know, but had already decided Jaime’s fate before I arrived in Riverrun. They will be taking his sword hand for the act he committed against Bran Stark._

_I am sure Jaime can learn to fight just as well with his left hand, though he will likely lament about the loss for as long as possible. I am more concerned about his position in the Kingsguard. Joffrey will keep him, as long as he can prove his competence. Cersei will be harder to please, and may even attempt to have Jaime released._

_I know not of what Cersei plans of late have been, but I am sure she has been planning something. She would not be happy with Joffrey’s lack of willingness to follow her, nor of the Starks’ sudden deaths. She will demand to see their bodies before long, and I hope Joffrey has enough sense to send someone away to “deliver their bones” before then._

_However, that is not the reason I am writing to you. Joffrey will need a new Hand, and none of the men on his council can be trusted to lead him along the right path. I would ask you to send Tyrion to act as hand until such a time comes where Joffrey will choose his own. I know, you are likely scowling at this letter as though it has burned you or other such nonsense, but Tyrion is wise, and barring that, will do anything to protect his family. He will make a great Hand._

_I must go now, but I will write whenever possible. All my love,_

_Emmeline_

* * *

Tywin’s bad mood didn't diminish until late that evening, after he had visited Tyrion and locked himself in his chambers. Emmeline had been right, of course. Tyrion would make a great Hand until Joffrey could find a suitable replacement. The way Tywin had treated him for most of his life ensured that.

He had already given his squire, a plump boy from House Payne, to his youngest son. Despite Tyrion’s lack of experience in battle, having a squire would prove useful. The Hand normally took care of the affairs that could go without the King’s approval, often meeting with more important guests in his chambers. 

His eyes traveled to his desk, where his daughter’s letter sat next to another unopened letter from the North’s camp. He had thought, by sending Emmeline to the Stark’s camp with Lord Stark and his two daughters, that he had made himself very clear in his answer to the man’s proposal. Apparently, he hadn’t. Nevertheless, the man would have difficulty finding support without Tywin’s help, which he would not provide. The man’s loyalties were questionable at best, and gold was not something that would sway him from his true goals.

He knew his daughter could take care of herself. She had proven that to him during her last battle, not even her wound hindering her from cutting down her enemies.


	8. Chapter 8

### Disagreements

##### CATELYN

_News, of the one who sent the man to kill Bran,_ Ned had said, handing her the letter with a grim face. Regardless of what Ned told her, she was dreading this news. She wasn't sure _who_ , exactly, had sent the man, if it was not Tyrion Lannister, but it was a thought she did not want to dwell on. If it was not the Imp who had sent the assassin, she feared she may have been the inadvertent cause of the war.

She held the letter in trembling hands, not daring open it for fear of what it contained. Ned and Robb were sat across the room, giving her the privacy she needed while they conversed quietly. Ned’s presence, even on the other side of the room, gave her the courage she needed to unfurl the page, her eyes taking in the tidy script.

The letter was not written to her, that she could tell. She had spent little time at court, less time than was necessary to know Lord Varys, and even less for him to be familiar with her in a letter. Lady Lannister had likely given her husband this letter, knowing the accusations it contained. The thought was enough to make her blood boil.

_My Lady,_

_It pains me to say that the attempt on young Bran Stark’s life is part of a much deeper plot than you could have imagined. Lord Baelish has always been quite cunning, as you well know, and I fear that he may have known what lengths Lady Stark would go to for her children. Regardless of that, he has always held a deep fondness for Lady Stark, and has, more than once, stated that he would do anything to save her from her husband. You are clever, My Lady, I am sure you know what this means._

_While Lord Baelish chose to remain in King’s Landing, he did send quite a few of his own to attend to the Queen and her children. It would have been quite simple for one of them to remove the King’s dagger from his possession. Whether he knew that Lady Stark would return to King’s Landing for my consult or not, I believe he used the assassination attempt on young Lord Stark to drive a wedge between your family and theirs. Not surprising, of course, given the longtime feud between Stark and Lannister._

_Regardless of Lord Baelish’s intent behind the failed assassination, you must be wary. Should he discover the truth behind the Starks’ supposed deaths, it will not be long before Queen Cersei also knows the truth. As it is, he is already aware that you will be in the North's camp brokering peace, as the King has claimed._

She stood quickly, not reading the rest of the letter. Ned and Robb were still speaking quietly, heads bowed over the map covering Robb’s desk, allowing her to slip out of the room without them knowing. She would speak to Lady Lannister alone, and find out the truth for herself.

* * *

A commotion from the courtyard halted her before she could return to her chambers. Though she would have preferred to return to her solitude—lock herself away to soothe her burning hand while hiding the effect her guilt was having on her—she would first have to greet their… _guests_ , as Robb was still quite busy.

Robb’s men were gathered near the gates, preventing anyone from coming in. Their weapons were not drawn, yet, though she could tell their guest was being less than cooperative. Through the gaps, she could make out the tall, lanky figure of her longtime friend.

“Petyr,” she breathed, pushing past the men in front of her, “what are you _doing_ here?” The letter from Lord Varys, which she had tried so hard to dismiss, came to the forefront of her mind.

She wished he had not come at all. When around her, he had always been so honest, almost to a fault. Now, she could see how false his smile really was. It hadn’t been as obvious in King’s Landing, with her grief and anger crushing her as it had been. He looked almost _gleeful_ to be there, though she still did not understand his reasoning behind traveling all that way.

“I have been tasked with returning your husband’s and daughters’ bones to you.”

She felt her face fall at his words. Even as Petyr spoke, the grin didn’t leave his face, though she could see the false look of sympathy that he tried to convey to her. A memory came to the front of her mind, the grin on his face being replaced by the delighted look he wore when he told her of the dagger’s owner. At the time, she had assumed he was just happy to have knowledge that Varys did not, but perhaps that wasn’t the case at all.

“Cat.”

He was gripping her hands now, almost too tight. His grin was gone, his sympathetic act firmly in place. She would not allow herself to fall for his false words, for that’s all they could be. She remembered the letter she had received from Ned, shortly after she had begun her return home, joining Robb in his war camp. The king had just passed, and even Ned’s words couldn’t hide how distraught he had been. He had assured her that Petyr was keeping his promise, and helping him in any way he could. And then Ned had been wrongly imprisoned.

“I cannot tell you how sorry I am for Lord Stark’s death. I know how much you loved him. I want you to know, I did _everything_ I could to ensure he would survive, but the Queen must have been a step ahead of me the entire time.”

She knew better than to believe such a thing. Sansa had been allowed to write to her while she was held captive; a foolish decision on their part. In her letters, she described an encounter with the whore that Theon had been especially fond of, a whore who was now _employed_ under her dear friend.

Catelyn had never been very fond of whores, but even she had to admit they were very adept at gathering information. This specific whore had been privy to one particular story told by Petyr, about his love for a woman and how he had lost her. To some, it may have been an innocent story telling of his lost love, but Catelyn knew better. He had told the story of his lost duel against Brandon Stark, and how she had spared his life, rather than letting Brandon finish him off.

She wondered, briefly, what would have happened if she had allowed him to strike the finishing blow. Ned would have still agreed to be Robert’s Hand upon Jon Arryn’s death, but would he have nearly died after Robert died? And Bran… Bran would still likely be able to walk, run, _climb_.

“My son will want to see you,” Catelyn stated, gently pulling her hands from Petyr’s grip. She couldn’t let her thoughts get ahead of her, not while Petyr was here. If he was here to get information, or to discover the _truth_ , she couldn’t allow him to learn anything. She would have to distance herself from him.

“First, I have been ordered to verify Lady Lannister’s arrival. The King has not yet received news of her safe arrival, and as Lord Lannister has begun withdrawing his men, the concern for her wellbeing is not unfounded.”

Catelyn bowed her her head in acknowledgement. Before leading Petyr away, she stopped Olyvar from his errands, bidding him to inform Robb of her friend’s arrival. He would likely send Olyvar with a request to bring Petyr immediately. Hopefully, the meeting with Lady Lannister would sate his curiosity, at least for the time being.

* * *

Lady Lannister was sitting in a chair by the window when Catelyn and Petyr arrived at her chambers. Even on her own, she acted as the perfect lady, her back straight and head held high. A bruise was forming high on her cheekbone, though the girl didn't seem to pay any mind to it.

“Lady Lannister, you have a guest.”

Even years of hiding away emotions couldn't prevent the shocked look that crossed the girl's face. Catelyn knew it must have been because of her. One usually would not expect the woman who had hit her, giving her the bruise on her cheek, to visit her so shortly. She knew the woman wouldn't be expecting an apology; her pride wouldn't allow her to give the apology, regardless.

“My Lady,” Petyr strode forward, folding his hands into his sleeves and giving a short bow. Lady Lannister’s attention shifted to the man in front of her, and she gave him a curt nod, greeting him in turn. “King Joffrey wished for me to make certain you were being treated properly. It appears,” he paused, his eyes tracing the bruise on her cheek, “that your hosts have been less than kind—”

Lady Lannister touched her tender cheek, then waved a dismissive hand, effectively cutting Petyr off. “Nonsense, Lord Baelish. I was, unfortunately, injured on my way here. My horse was spooked, I'm sure you understand.” 

Petyr was nodding, almost absentmindedly, while Lady Lannister talked, though he seemed to believe her. Catelyn couldn't understand why the other woman would withhold the truth, but she felt a bit of relief as she spoke. 

Catelyn didn't know what would happen if the woman were to be called back to King’s Landing. She knew it would not bode well for their tentative treaty with Tywin Lannister and the child king, though. Their treaty was holding on by thin threads, she knew that, and she knew Robb knew it too. Lady Lannister, despite her position in the camp, could break the treaty with just a few well-placed words, if she so wished.

The thoughtful look on Petyr’s face was enough to tell her he was thinking the same thing. The silence stretched between them before Petyr eventually broke it, his grin once again on his face. “Well, My Lady, I will report back to the King that you are being treated as expected.” He gave her another bow before bidding her goodbye and heading for the door.

Catelyn sent one more searching look at Lady Lannister before following.

* * *

##### ROBB

He couldn't prevent himself from pacing after he received the news from Olyvar. Lord Baelish was in Riverrun. His father and sisters had been ordered to lock themselves in their chambers and allow no guests; not even his mother was to visit them while Lord Baelish remained, lest the man discover they were, in fact, alive.

The man hadn't even came when he had been summoned, though Robb couldn't be sure if his mother had a hand in that or not. He was fully aware of the elder man’s feelings toward his mother. While his mother had been less than happy to marry a Stark other than his uncle Brandon, Robb knew she had found love with his father. Petyr Baelish, though, seemed to think that his mother needed _saving_ , despite her happiness. The thought, while ridiculous, was quite unnerving.

A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts, and he called for his visitor to enter, seating himself at his desk. His mother opened the door, leading Lord Baelish in before closing the door firmly behind them. She put distance between them, walking to stare out the window while Baelish approached his desk.

His solar was facing the river, a spectacular scene to view as the sun descended. Robb’s mother would often visit him as he worked to watch the scene outside the window. His men rarely ventured that way, choosing to remain in the main courtyard. The emptiness gave a sort of peace that was rare to find during the time of war.

“My Lord—”

“Your Grace,” his mother corrected, her tone sharp. She hadn't even sounded so angry when she had received the news of another Lannister joining them. Robb distantly wondered what Littlefinger had done to anger her so. His mother was a fierce woman to have on one's side; he was glad to have her.

“My apologies, _your Grace_ ,” the man simpered, bending into a bow that Robb was sure was supposed to be flattering. He wondered if the man acted the same way in front of his own king, groveling at the boy’s feet. “News of my impending arrival was sent ahead. Did you not receive it?”

Robb knew damn well that they hadn't sent news ahead, though he kept his face blank. The man was planning something, that much was apparent. Perhaps he knew the truth, and was trying to catch them in the act. It wouldn't happen.

“I did not,” replied Robb after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. Until he knew what Littlefinger’s plans were, he could not give away any hint of suspicion. “However, I was informed that you returned my father’s and sisters’ bones to us. I cannot thank you enough.”

* * *

The look of barely concealed fury on Baelish’s face was enough to send a jolt of satisfaction through Robb. The man may have been sneaky when associating with Southerners, but they were of the North, and the North was not easily fooled. It had been simple enough to figure out Littlefinger’s true intentions. All they had to do was wait for his mother to turn on her charms, and he was wrapped around her finger.

“Petyr, were you aware that Ned had sent me a letter shortly before his imprisonment? I do believe it was sent the night the late King Robert passed.” His mother’s voice was strong and carried through the large hall, allowing everyone there to hear her words.

All his lords were in attendance, scattered through the hall, many eating with their men as they kept one eye on the spectacle before them. Lord Baelish stood before the head table attempting to clear the look of anger from his face, very clearly shocked by the way the events had turned on him. Catelyn Stark stood before him, looking just as queenly as Robb was sure she felt.

His mother had even asked Lady Lannister to dine with them. The blonde sat just two seats down from him, his mother's empty seat between them. Robb hoped that meant she was warming up to her, but doubted it. Despite the younger woman’s acts, his mother would not forgive easily, even with the younger woman having nothing to do with Bran being thrown from the window.

Lord Baelish’s mouth opened and closed for a few moments before he gathered himself enough to speak. “My Lady, I was not aware that your late husband had been able to write to you before his… _untimely_ demise.”

“I see,” his mother replied, her voice clipped. She was slowly pacing, now, circling Lord Baelish where he stood. Robb could see Lady Lannister attempting to hide a smile at the way his mother was acting. Catelyn Stark could be a fierce woman when pushed. “Then you also do not know that he assured me _countless times_ in his letters that my dear friend, Lord Baelish, _you_ , had promised him that the men you gave him would remain loyal to him.” Her voice dropped into a near whisper as she approached her old friend. “You have until nightfall to gather your belongings and leave. Should you return to our camp, or to the North, you will find that your welcome will be much less… _kind_.”

Lord Baelish took a moment to compose himself before stalking from the hall. The chatter from Robb’s men swelled, drowning out the sound of the door slamming. His mother remained standing before the main table, her chest heaving with her quick breaths. Robb knew it would not have been easy to send the man away, despite the fact that he had been the reason his father had nearly been killed.

Lady Lannister greeted her when she returned to her seat, sparking Robb’s curiosity. He knew neither woman would appreciate him cutting into their conversation, though, and sat quietly, observing his men as they ate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that I have fully written! D: Hopefully, next weekend will be as relaxing as I'm hoping. We're going to be staying at a hotel while we attend Acen (all weekend, too!) for my birthday, and I'm hoping I'll be able to finish the next chapter and have it up sometime after.


	9. Chapter 9

### Punishment

##### ARYA

##### 

It was raining, and much colder than it had been the days previous. They could feel the beginnings of winter setting in, though they hadn't yet seen any snow. Arya, being a summer child, was excited to see the blanket of snow covering the Southern lands, though she knew she wouldn't be there to see it. There had been talk that they would soon begin their march back north, and be home long before the first winter snows fell.

Arya had decided to visit Lady Lannister and keep her company during the dreary day, ignoring her mother’s obvious disapproval on the matter. The bruise her mother had left on the woman’s cheek was a mixture of purple and yellow, showing that it had already begun healing. She knew that Jaime Lannister would be unhappy regardless, thinking his sister was being abused during her stay.

The Kingslayer’s trial and punishment was fast approaching, only a few days away now. Arya knew it would be weighing heavily on the youngest Lannister child, even if she did not show it. Regardless of the atrocities her brother had done, he was still her brother; Arya could understand that sentiment.

“Will you be there?”

Arya cringed at how loud her voice sounded in the quiet, the only other sound being the rain pounding against the window. The garden below had flooded, pushing back the Kingslayer’s trial until a calmer day. He was locked inside his chambers once more, with one of Robb’s most trusted Kingsguard at the door.

“I would like to be,” Lady Lannister began, her anxiety clear in her voice.

Arya knew the chances of her being allowed to attend the punishment were slim, but chose not to say such a thing. The woman was already worried enough as it was. Instead, she turned her gaze out the window, giving Lady Lannister a chance to gather her thoughts.

“My brother is strong, yes, but even he will not be able to handle having his sword hand taken away. Regardless, it is a necessity if the agreement between our families is to continue.”

They regarded each other quietly, Arya studying Lady Lannister with a calm understanding. Regardless of how the older woman felt, they both knew her accompanying Arya’s family would be in the best interests of all parties involved.

“Now, I am curious, Lady Arya. Your brother seemed to have a close friend who he seemed especially fond of. Theon Greyjoy, I believe his name is. May I inquire as to his whereabouts?”

The question was innocent enough, though Arya could sense an undercurrent of distrust in the blonde’s words. Of course, Arya had wondered the same thing when they had arrived in Riverrun, where Theon was conspicuously absent.

Robb had sent his friend, against their mother’s better judgement, to treat with Balon Greyjoy, of all people. Since he had left, over a month ago now, they had not heard anything from him. Countless ravens had since been sent to both Seagard and Pyke, with only one response: Theon Greyjoy had arrived in Seagard and taken a ship to Pyke. With Robb’s ravens going unanswered, they could only assume he had abandoned the mission he had been given to rejoin his father.

“Before King Joffrey’s letter arrived here, Robb sent Theon to treat with his father in the hopes of gaining ships. He has not heard a word from Theon since.”

Arya watched as Lady Lannister thought over her next words. She was relaxed, more so than when she was around the rest of the Starks. The realization caused a warmth to spread through her chest. She knew Lady Lannister wouldn't discount her because of her age; children saw and heard more than people realized.

“Would it not be wise for your brother to send men North now? Surely Balon Greyjoy is planning something, if news has not returned of his heir’s arrival.”

Her words caused Arya to stiffen, the implication behind them all to clear. “You think Theon will turn against us?”

“I believe his father may not give him a _choice_.”

* * *

Arya found herself pacing outside Robb’s solar after she bid Lady Lannister—Emmeline, as the woman requested she call her—a hasty goodbye. While there was no reason to ever doubt The ones loyalties, she couldn't get the thought out of her head. Theon had always been proud to declare himself an Ironborn, a Kraken; he would always speak of the respect he believed he deserved. They could not disregard the possibility of him choosing to prove his worth to his father.

She could hear her father speaking on the other side of the door, his hushed tones barely audible through the thick wood. Him and Robb had barely slept since their arrival in Riverrun; they were both much too busy planning for their march home.

After a few long moments of pacing outside the door, Arya let out a loud huff of breath and flung the door open. Each pair of eyes in the room turned to her, causing her bravado to falter and nearly die. Inside the room sat every one of Robb’s lords, as well as the many lords of the Riverlands. They had all been sitting in rapt silence, listening to her father speak, and now, their attention was on her.

“I wish to speak with my father and Robb,” she stated, her voice far steadier than she thought it would be. When none of the men moved—Lord Karstark even had a rather sarcastic smirk on his face—she plowed on, “ _alone_.”

A gruff chuckle erupted from Lord Karstark mouth, drawing an intense glare from Arya. Any response she would have given was interrupted by Lord Bolton, who rose from his seat and gave her a small bow.

“As _Princess_ Arya wishes,” he said. 

The rest of Robb’s lords, with the exception of an irate Lord Karstark, followed him out the door.

Once the room was empty, Lord Karstark being dismissed by a look from Arya’s father, she turned to the desk, her eyes meeting her father’s, then Robb’s. They watched her patiently, waiting for her to speak.

“I think you should send men North ahead of us,” she burst out suddenly. Her father and Robb shared a look before Robb leaned forward, his fingers laced together and held under his chin. “You haven't got anything from Theon yet, and Lady Lannister thinks his father is planning something. She thinks he'll turn on you to prove something to his father.”

Their father spoke after a moment, his voice a quiet murmur. “We have already decided on the best course of action regarding Theon’s silence. However, should that fail, we will consider your suggestion.”

She let herself smile, glad that she wasn't being dismissed right away, as her mother would have done, as even the men of Robb’s council would have done. The voice of a woman was not well considered. The voice of a young girl, even less so. She knew it did not have anything to do with that, though. Her father had not dismissed her since her jumbled warning in King’s Landing—a mistake that had nearly cost him his life.

* * *

They were gathered in the gardens, Arya and Sansa standing quietly next to their mother as Robb’s men rushed about. The rain had stopped earlier in the day, allowing the sun to dry the pathways. The grass was still damp, the soil holding the imprints of their feet long after they moved. 

Robb had declared that the Kingslayer’s trial and punishment was to take place at sunset. They would be leaving Riverrun within the week, if the weather held up, giving the Kingslayer time to heal before he was released. Arya couldn't be more thrilled to hear the news, ready to return home, to see her younger brothers. Of course, they would first have to remain at the Twins for Robb’s wedding, and then the new Queen and—she shuddered—Arya’s _betrothed_ would accompany them on the remaining journey to Winterfell.

Lady Lannister had been politely ordered to remain in her chambers for the Kingslayer’s punishment. Arya knew the woman would not cause any trouble, though it was much more difficult convincing her mother to believe so. She could see the woman's blonde hair for a fleeting moment, through the window of her chambers. She appeared to be keeping busy. Arya hoped she wouldn't watch, even if she wanted to.

The Kingslayer was led out to the garden, his skin sallow and pale, a severe change from the man that had arrived in Winterfell with his family. His face bore a somber look, rather than the smirk they had all grown accustomed to. He remained kneeling, staring straight ahead, as Robb started his monologue, adapted from the long speech their father would give before beheading deserters of the Night's Watch. 

She had never been witness to such an event, though Bran had told her plenty from his single experience. 

Down the line of spectators stood Lord Karstark, his hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Arya could not blame the man for his obvious anger. Just the other night, despite the promise of peace, an attempt had been made to smuggle the Lannister siblings out of Riverrun. Torrhen, though not fatally wounded, had been bedridden as a result of the attempt, leaving Lord Karstark livid.

“Is there anything you wish to say in your defence?”

Arya returned her attention to the Kingslayer as her brother’s voice rang out. The man remained quiet, now glaring stubbornly at the rock his hand rested on. Robb’s confidence faltered only once, when he glanced back to their father. At his nod, Robb returned his gaze to the Kingslayer, and without another word, brought his sword down upon the man’s wrist.

* * *

##### EDDARD

“You were not at your brother’s sentencing.”

Ned had decided to accompany Lady Lannister to breakfast the next morning, allowing Cat to sleep while she could. They would begin their return trip to Winterfell in less than a fortnight, and he would resume his duties as Lord of Winterfell, just as Cat would resume hers as Lady. They would remain Lord and Lady of Winterfell until Robb married, allowing him to fully settle into his role as King. They would both need as much rest as they could get.

“I did not attend,” Lady Lannister agreed, her voice quiet so as to not disturb the hall’s occupants. “There are still many who are not comfortable with my presence in Riverrun. The king felt it best that I remained in my chambers.”

They both knew that Robb had requested she remain in her chambers at Cat’s insistence. The knowledge was enough to leave a sour taste in his mouth. He was well aware of the petty grudges Catelyn would, and could, keep if she felt slighted. Even if Lady Lannister _herself_ had not slighted his wife, she would still find herself facing Cat’s wrath.

“Regardless,” the woman continued, oblivious to the turn his thoughts had taken, “my brother would not have wanted me there. He is already unhappy with the current arrangements in place. He would be even less pleased were I to see him at one of his _weakest_ moments.” She shook her head with a quiet scoff, as though the idea was completely absurd. 

He thought differently, though. Jaime Lannister had spent the better portion of his life perfecting his sportsmanship, even renouncing his title as heir to pursue his dream to be the best. The loss of his sword hand could certainly be one of his weakest moments—many a swordsman could agree with him on that.

Before he could voice his thoughts, Lord Karstark approached the table, his menacing glare fixed firmly on Lady Lannister. “I wish to speak with Lord Stark,” he rumbled, saying nothing else as the woman excused herself.

Lord Karstark took her seat, digging into the remainder of her food without restraint. Ned kept a wary eye on him as he resumed eating his own breakfast, waiting for the man to state his business. 

“When are you going to end this farce and claim the title of King in the North?”

Ned wanted to sigh at the question; it had been a long time coming. He could see the men around him had been wondering the same thing since he had arrived in Riverrun. _When would he take the title his son had earned for himself?_ The unanswered question had caused tension to run high in their camp, the men already dividing between father and son. It was not something he would allow to happen.

“Were you not one of the first to lay your sword at my son’s feet,” he questioned instead, turning his gaze back to Rickard. The man had set his gaze on his plate, seeming determined to avoid Ned’s gaze.

“Aye,” the man answered reluctantly. “Many of us thought the simple _rescue_ mission we embarked on would soon become one of revenge.”

“And so, you declared my son as your king. Be it a mistake or not, the decision has been made. Robb will be your king.” Rickard looked up from his plate, the scowl firmly back on his face. He didn’t argue, for which Ned was relieved, though he could tell the other man was still displeased with the outcome of their conversation. “Robb has led you into countless battles, and not one of those battles has he lost. He is more than capable of being King in the North.”

* * *

His talk with Rickard had been more taxing than Ned had expected it to be. Of all his lords, Rickard had been the most vocal in his support, with the Greatjon following closely. Ned had been expecting him to voice his opinion quite loudly. That he had not was a relief.

Now, though, Ned had another task to complete. Only days before, a raven had been shot down, Robb still not trusting any birds that had not previously been approved. It was the right choice, they discovered, as the raven had been bearing a letter for Lord Tywin Lannister, attempting to coerce him into betraying the Starks. The letter had been sent, and now all they could do was wait for Lord Lannister’s response.

The Karstarks and Umbers had proven to be invaluable in battles, and fiercely loyal. Ned knew better than to suspect them or anyone from their ranks. No, the man he was most weary of was Lord Bolton. Robb had informed him of the man's distance as of late. There could be a number of possible reasons for this, though Ned already had an inkling of the real reason.

Lord Bolton had, somehow, returned unharmed after leading two thousand men to their deaths. Ignoring the implications behind that, he also had a lack of heir and a deep seated grudge against the Starks. Him and his men were just as ready to bolt as the Frey men had been. They would have to be very careful around him, lest they betray their suspicion. Lord Bolton was nothing if not perceptive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... Oops! I updated this on FF.net back in August and COMPLETELY forgot to update it on here. I'm sooooo sorry guys! I'm not sure when the next update will be, as I recently uncovered a very long challenge and have been drawn back into it. That one will be for Star Trek AOS, but I don't plan on uploading it until it's complete. So yes, this story has been put on the backburner a little because of that. It's a 500 prompt challenge, which has been consuming much of my free time (outside of gaming with the fiancé). Don't worry! I still plan on continuing this story, I'm just taking a much needed break to gather my thoughts for this story.
> 
> Anyway! This chapter ends with Ned's thoughts and suspicions about Roose Bolton. Our good friend Roose will be playing a large part in the story later, which I can't wait to get to. And yes, this story _is_ progressing a bit slower than I had originally intended. For reference, this takes place about a month and a half after the story began. 
> 
> As always, thank you all for sticking with me! Hope you all enjoyed!


	10. Chapter 10

### Mourning

##### SANSA

Hoster Tully died mere days before they were set to disembark from Riverrun. She tried to feel sad—the man was, after all, her grandfather—but could only muster the feeling while watching her mother mourn. Despite their extended stay at Riverrun, Sansa had not had a chance to get to know her grandfather, but neither had she tried. When they had arrived, his health had already been rapidly declining.

The funeral would happen as soon as the preparations were complete. Sansa knew Robb was anxious to begin the march North, fearing that King Joffrey would retract his offer and call his aunt home, sending Tywin to finish them while they were distracted. Of course, they would have to stop at the Twins first, for Robb to choose his wife. If the Lannisters really did change their minds, that would be the perfect place to ambush them. 

A bell tolled, signalling that the preparations were complete. She would have to join her family down at the docks shortly. Even Lady Lannister had been invited to pay her respects, though she would be under watch the whole time. Despite them saying she was a guest, she was being treated more like a prisoner. The woman didn’t seem to mind, though Sansa, having experienced the same thing, had already expressed her disapproval to Robb. His lords and lady mother wished for her to be _watched_ , he had told her, and no one, save the Stark children, were willing to follow her around.

Their lady mother couldn't, of course, prevent them from providing Lady Lannister with their company. Sansa chose to spend many of the rainy days in Lady Lannister’s chambers, expressing her newfound frustrations with the woman. Her and Arya had seen many _questionable_ acts while they were in King's Landing; their father had been imprisoned and nearly executed. While Sansa may have been able to act like the _perfect_ lady, she was just as traumatized as Arya.

A knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts. She was being summoned to the docks, where they would witness the body of Hoster Tully be joined with the land and water. She gathered her cloak in her arms and joined the guard outside. He would bring her to her family, and then return her to the castle after.

* * *

Her breath was white in the air, showing that autumn was close, and winter not far behind. Despite the chill, she felt almost too warm, her newly made clothes nearly stifling. Her cloak remained in her arms, keeping her hands from the cold. Beside her, Arya tugged at her own cloak, her cheeks flushed.

They may have been children of summer, but they were still children of the North above all. While those from the Riverlands shivered under their cloaks, the Stark family stood proud wearing their summer cloaks, the only sign of cold in their flushed cheeks. Even their mother, originally from the south, stood unaffected by the new cold weather.

The late Lord Tully had already been placed in the boat, a cloak with the Tully sigil covering his body and his sword used during Robert’s Rebellion placed on his chest. The boat, once far enough away, would be lit on fire so that Lord Tully’s ashes could join the river.

Her feet were sinking in the mud. The most recent rains had left the ground even softer than it had been after the first rains. Sansa hoped the cold would harden the ground before they departed for the Twins. If it did not, she was sure the ride would take twice as long. The autumn snows had likely already begun in the north; she would hate to have to delay their departure once more. She was eager to see her brothers, even _Jon_.

Arya snickered, drawing her attention to the funeral proceedings. Lord Tully’s boat had been set adrift, the current pulling him further down the river. Her uncle, Edmure, had released a burning arrow, though it had fallen short. Sansa was sure Bran could have hit the boat, had he been here. Robb had told her of his increasing affinity for archery on horseback. 

Edmure had shot another arrow, the fire arcing through the air before falling short and extinguishing in the water. Arya snickered once more, their father sending her a silencing look before looking forward. Their uncle Brynden was becoming agitated. Sansa could not blame him. The boat holding Hoster Tully’s body was nearing the bend in the river. Once it passed that bend, the arrow would no longer be able to reach it, leaving the late Lord Tully’s body for the crows.

A third arrow missed, not even coming close to the boat. Arya snickered again as Brynden snatched the bow out of his nephew’s hands. The flaming arrow flew true, igniting her grandfather’s body just before the boat drifted around the bend. 

Their mother’s red-rimmed eyes quieted any other sounds that may have come from Arya, but she could see Robb attempting to stifle his own laughter. In the end, he settled with a cough, leading Arya away to allow their mother some peace.

* * *

They would be leaving for the Twins in the morn. All of their belongings had already been packed away and loaded onto wagons. They would be traveling by horseback, of course, to speed traveling along. Sansa feared that the trip would still take longer than they desired. The clouds were growing to the north, the color an angry gray. The early Autumn rains would surely slow them down.

Sansa still had not been to see Lady Lannister, not since her mother's outburst at dinner nearly a week ago. While Lady Lannister had been nothing but kind and courteous during her stay, Sansa’s mother still could not stand her company. Robb had escorted their guest back to her room, and quietly urged her to remain in her rooms until they began their journey north.

She did not know what had caused the young woman to spirit them away from King's Landing, but she did wonder if the woman held any regrets. Since their arrival, she had been abused by their mother, kept prisoner in her chambers, and had several attempts on her life. Sansa knew she would likely come to regret her decision, had she been in the young woman’s place.

Regardless, she couldn't bring herself to look at Lady Lannister, not knowing that she was in the same position Sansa was in not long ago. They could call it whatever they liked, but the true name would be prisoner. Arya would be better company, despite their age gap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive! I'm soooooo sorry for taking so long to update, but the inspiration is just _not there_ for this story. Honestly, I haven't been spending much time at all writing. The big thing about this story is that I don't quite know what direction I should be taking it. I had a _great_ plan for it when I first started writing it, but looking over the plot and whatnot for later, I don't think I really like it.
> 
> It’s so hard to make a decision on what I want to do. For one, this isn't a story I want to give up on. But I'm also at that point of “how do I go from here” that I'm kind of wondering if I should just scrap it all and start fresh… so, for now, I'm gonna put this story on a tentative hiatus. If I get a burst of inspiration, then I will most definitely post an update, but don't expect it.
> 
> For now, a short filler chapter in Sansa’s point of view. It’s not much, and for that I'm sorry, but unfortunately, it's all I've got for the moment.
> 
> Thank you to anyone who's still sticking with me on this story. I'll try!


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